


coax the cold right out of me

by growlery



Series: i wanna make you feel how i feel when i'm listening to love songs [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - College/University, Background Relationships, Community: trope_bingo, Ensemble Cast, Friendship, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Music, Pining, Recreational Drug Use, Romantic Gestures, Self-Indulgent, Underage Drinking, communication is important but communication is hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-18
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-06 05:02:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6739162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/growlery/pseuds/growlery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Monty taps the microphone, and then, satisfied, introduces himself. “This song is about R2-D2,” he says, and Miller knows, in that moment, that he is totally doomed. </p><p>(Or, the one where they're all in college and Indra owns the coffee shop where Miller, Wells and Octavia work, and where Monty and Lincoln play music.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	coax the cold right out of me

**Author's Note:**

> using this for my trope_bingo square unrequited love/pining, because holy shit there's a lot of pining here, even for me. because this is a self-indulgent mess, I also made a playlist, which you can find [here](https://playmoss.com/en/empleished/playlist/coax-the-cold-right-out-of-me) if that's something you're into. (warning there are a lot of fall out boy songs. like. a lot.)
> 
> background relationships are bellamy/raven, maya/wells, anya/indra, lincoln/octavia and clarke/lexa. contains references to suicide ideation, binge drinking, anxiety, stress and disordered eating. title's from bite by troye sivan.

Miller comes into work early, straight from class, because Octavia's sick and Indra couldn't get anyone else to work her shift. It's busy as fuck, and she greets him tersely as he goes around back to dump his stuff.

 _f u_ , he texts O when they've finally got through the massive queue. He gets a sun emoji in response, a minute later, and Miller would almost think she was skipping out on them except for how she would never do that, and also Bellamy still panics every time his sister gets sick, so Miller had to spend the previous night assuring him that Octavia probably wasn't going to die of the flu.

It quiets down for a bit after the rush, enough that Indra can escape to the back and Miller can work on the paper he has due soon. Lincoln arrives partway through Miller's second paragraph, and Miller greets him with a nod.

“Hey, is Indra around?” Lincoln asks, and Miller jerks his head towards the back.

“Pretty sure she's actually drowning in paperwork,” he warns. “I'd steer clear. Need a hand setting up?”

Lincoln shakes his head. “I'll not drag you away from work,” he says, and Miller doesn't tell him that he'd be happy to let Lincoln drag him off pretty much anywhere. Lincoln has these _arms_ , and a voice like some kind of angel, and Miller is a little bit into that kind of thing.

“Paper,” he says, holding up his phone, and Lincoln raises his eyebrows. “Hardly work.”

“Might be worse,” Lincoln says with a wry smile, and Miller kind of has to agree.

The place fills up a lot more once Lincoln's started playing. He's been doing shows here since they started this whole thing – "I have a friend who plays guitar," Indra said, when Miller suggested using the raised area in the corner for live music – and they get more than a few regulars that come just to see him play. Things get busy enough that Miller doesn't have time to even glance at his phone, to think about the mountain of schoolwork he has waiting for him when he gets home, and it's a curse and a blessing, honestly.

“He's really good,” one customer comments, and Miller nods as he rings up the guy's order, a latte and one of Wells's brownies. The queue has finally petered out, but they've brought in more than enough to pay Lincoln's fee and give him a free coffee. Miller knew this whole thing would be a good idea, but it's always nice to be reminded that he's a strategic genius. “Who do I talk to about getting a slot?”

Miller lifts his hand. “Hi,” he says. “I'm Miller.”

“Monty,” the guy says, smiling widely, “hi.”

Monty's smile is kind of- distracting. It makes his eyes go bright, pulls dimples into the skin on either side of his mouth. Miller shakes it off.

“So is it just you,” he asks, “or do you have a band?”

“Just me, though my friend Jasper plays a mean tambourine,” Monty says, and Miller frowns.

“Jasper Jordan?”

“Yeah, how'd you know him?”

“He's in my philosophy class,” Miller says, and Monty grins.

“ _Nathan_ Miller, right? You have wrong opinions about everything, apparently.”

Miller makes a face. Jasper's the one with the wrong opinions, thank you very much, but there's a queue starting to form again, so he just says, “Come find me before you leave. I'll take your details and we'll figure out a time that works for both of us.”

Monty lifts his cup in solemn salute, and then heads off to take over one of the remaining tables. Shaking his head, Miller gets back to work.

He doesn't get a free minute again until closing time. Miller helps Indra close up, since it's still just the two of them in. She works out his share of the tips while he makes up Lincoln's free coffee, and while both of their backs are turned, Lincoln takes a cloth and one of the spray bottles and starts wiping down the tables.

“Lincoln,” Indra says, exasperated, when she notices, and Miller turns around, shakes his head at him.

“You'll put me out of a job, man,” he says, but it's hard to sound stern, pretend like he really minds, when Lincoln's rolled up his sleeves and has a sheepish smile curling his lips.

Miller takes Lincoln's coffee over and swaps it for the cloth, meeting only a little resistance when he tugs it out of Lincoln's hand.

“How's the paper going?” Lincoln asks, moving to lean against the counter where Indra's still filling plastic bags with cash.

Indra sharply lifts her head and narrows her eyes, and Miller says, “Hey, it was quiet,” and Indra says, “That's not it and you know it,” and Miller sighs.

Lincoln looks between them, brow furrowed. “I didn't realise there would be a problem,” he says. “I'm sorry.”

“There isn't,” Miller says, making himself smile reassuringly at Lincoln when all he wants to do is run. Last semester, when everything started piling up towards the end and Indra found Miller having a panic attack in the break room, she closed the shop and sat with him until he calmed down, and it's not that Miller doesn't appreciate it, but he doesn't want to worry her. She has enough on her plate. “I'm fine, Indra, it was just because it was quiet.”

Indra makes a vaguely suspicious noise, but Lincoln coughs and asks, “So how's Anya doing?”

Indra looks like she's aware that she's being distracted, her eyes narrowed and her mouth tight, but she says, “You'd know if you ever came to dinner,” and Miller shoots Lincoln a grateful look.

“This weekend, I promise,” Lincoln says solemnly, “I'll bring your favourite dessert,” and Indra beams at him.

Once she's finished doing inventory, she grabs the mop and bucket to help Miller clean up. Neither of them stop Lincoln when he pitches in, this time, and it isn't long before they're able to leave. Once the door's shut behind them all, Miller waves Indra and Lincoln off, then turns to head in the opposite direction.

*

>   
>  ♥ 358 likes  
>  **indrascoffee** @musicallincoln killing it as usual -M
> 
> **itsnateural** @octaevian what you missed today  
>  **nykookyn** looking good @musicallincoln!

*

Miller stops in at Octavia's on his way home so he can hand over her tip money, but it's Bellamy who opens the door, hollers back, “Miller!” when Octavia calls out asking who it is.

She's bundled up in a million blankets on her bed, most of which Miller recognises from his and Bellamy's apartment. She sneezes into her elbow before he reaches her, but holds her hands out, cupped, for the tips.

“Money,” she croons, holding the plastic bag up to her cheek. “My _precious_.”

“She's had a lot of cold meds,” Bellamy explains. He glares at her. “She nearly passed out in class today.”

“Which means I _didn't_ pass out in class today,” Octavia says cheerfully. “How was my shift?”

“Busy,” Miller says, and Octavia bumps his side gently. “We got another person sign up to play music. You know Jasper Jordan, right?”

Octavia frowns. “Jasper plays an instrument?”

“Tambourine, apparently,” Miller says, “but actually it's his friend Monty.”

Under the general pallor of her face, Miller sees it light up. “Oh, Monty's awesome,” she says. “I really hope he doesn't suck at the music thing.”

“Jasper,” Bellamy repeats, “is that the guy who has a giant crush on you?”

“He got over it,” Octavia says dismissively. “We're friends now. He has a hopeless crush on Maya instead.”

Bellamy looks sceptical, but Bellamy is always vaguely sceptical where Octavia and romance are involved. Miller moves the conversation swiftly on before he can push it, but Octavia is visibly exhausted, and Bellamy stops in the middle of a rant about the class he's TAing to say, exasperated, “She's fallen asleep on you.”

Miller glances down at her head, nestled under his chin, kept in place by the arm he has looped around her waist. He extracts himself as gently as he can, rearranging Octavia so she's properly under the blankets.

He still has to steer Bellamy away, tell him very firmly that Octavia won't thank him for camping out in her living room, but they bump into Maya on their way out of the building, and she's laden with soup and orange juice and yet more blankets.

"There's a casserole in your freezer," Bellamy tells her, and she nods solemnly. "I know O hates eating when she's sick but make sure she has something, yeah?"

"I will," Maya says, with far more patience than Miller would be able to manage, and Miller's able to drag Bellamy off home with only minimal resistance on Bellamy's part.

Miller's dad calls as they get through the door to their apartment. It's late enough that they should both already be asleep, but Miller's dad knows him better than that. Miller tenses, just a little, when _David Miller_ flashes up on his phone screen, but he only lets it ring for a few seconds.

“Hey Dad,” he says, and Bellamy's eyes widen. He holds up a thumb, questioning, and Miller holds one up in return. Bellamy nods, pulls Miller into a brief hug before disappearing into his room.

“Nate,” Miller's dad says, warmer than Miller would expect for this time of night. “I didn't wake you, did I?”

“Nah,” Miller says. “Late shift, you know how it is.”

“You work too hard,” Miller's dad says, but he doesn't push it. Miller has to work hard, and they both know it, but Bellamy has to work even harder. Miller knows he's lucky that his dad can help him out at all. “Are you getting on all right with your classes?”

“Yeah,” Miller lies. “How's work?”

His dad sighs, spends ten minutes ranting about the awfulness he's had to deal with this week, and then says, “You're too good at that.”

“What?”

“Deflecting,” his dad says, something wry in his voice. “Are you coming home for the holidays?”

There's a lump in Miller's throat, all of a sudden, and he's deeply resentful of it. _Of course_ , he wants to say, and, _Always_ , but what makes it out of his mouth is, “Clarke would never let me hear the end of it if I didn't.”

“Oh, of course,” his dad says, amused. “If her and Wells aren't planning on totally monopolising your time, maybe we could go somewhere nice for a week. You deserve to relax a bit.”

“I don't know,” Miller says. “I should study for finals.”

“You work too hard,” Miller's dad repeats, and it's worse, this time, hearing him say it. “You sure you're okay, Nate?”

“I'm-” Miller's voice catches. _Deeply resentful_. “I'm doing great, Dad.” He casts around for something that'll take the worried tone out of his dad's voice. “Bellamy makes sure I eat, anyway.”

It's a shitty joke, and it rings more true than Miller would like it to, but it makes his dad laugh anyway, soft. “What about that Bryan boy you were seeing?”

Miller and Bryan broke up a month ago. It was mutual, mostly, nearly entirely painless; it just wasn't working out. Miller didn't tell his dad, didn't think he'd even remember Miller mentioning him in the first place. He blurted it out in the middle of an unrelated conversation, the same way he'd come out, and his dad had looked the same kind of startled before saying, “Oh, son,” and pulling Miller into a hug.

“Nah,” Miller says, and his dad makes a vague humming noise, but doesn't comment. “I'm good, though. Honestly. I should get to bed, anyway, gotta be up early tomorrow.”

“Me too,” his dad says, rueful. “Good night, Nate.”

“Good night,” Miller says, and hangs up quickly, scrubbing a hand over his face.

*

>   
>  ♥ 35 likes  
>  **octaevian** being sick is the worst, @myohmaya is the best.
> 
> **bell_amy** why are you out of bed???????  >>>>:(  
>  **myohmaya** we're studying on the couch, relax.  
>  **octaevian** correction @bell_amy is the worst

*

Monty turns up early for his slot at Indra's, so Miller is utterly unprepared to come out of the break room to see him sat on the edge of the stage, sleeves rolled up and brow furrowed as he tunes the guitar he's holding.

Wells is behind the counter, and he says, “Forearms,” before Miller's even reached him.

“Shut up,” Miller says, scowling at him.

Sometimes, still being friends with people who've known you all your life is the worst. At least, he thinks, it's not Clarke. Wells is content to point out that Monty is horrendously Miller's type and just leave it that; Clarke would stage an _intervention_. Clarke would probably ask Monty out for him, actually, and just the thought makes Miller want to find a rock and bash himself over the head with it.

Monty taps the microphone, and then, satisfied, introduces himself. “This song is about R2-D2,” he says, and Miller knows, in that moment, that he is totally doomed. It's even worse when Monty starts to sing.

 _so Monty really doesn't suck at the music thing_ , Miller starts to text O, then deletes it, because it sounds ridiculous. He sighs, shakes his head, then retypes the message.

The response comes barely a minute later; it's a string of exclamation marks, followed by _say hi to him for me_. Miller shakes his head, puts his phone away, tries to force his focus back to his job, the waiting customers forming a queue. He never loses concentration when it's Lincoln's soft voice in the background; he can handle this.

Monty comes up to the counter when he's finished his set. Things quieted down enough for Wells to go clean the tables, so it's just Miller. He only fucked up somebody's order once, and it was on Monty's third song, when his voice got unexpectedly low and mournful.

“So, was that okay?” Monty asks, and Miller shrugs.

“Heard worse.”

“Awesome,” Monty says, grinning. “I can do this again, then?”

“If you're up for it,” Miller says. “Latte, right?” He waves Monty away when he tries to pay. “It's on us.”

Monty frowns. “You're already paying me.”

“Indra has this thing,” Miller says, dry, “you know, compensating people when they do work for you.”

“That is a radical concept,” Monty agrees, smiling, and Miller turns away to busy himself with the coffee machine so he doesn't get stuck on how soft Monty's face looks.

“Octavia says hi, by the way,” Miller says as he hands over Monty's coffee.

“I say hi back,” Monty says, raising his cup in the dorkiest little toast Miller has ever seen. Miller might be a little bit endeared. “She works here too, right? We were talking about how it sucks that the only places open late are bars and clubs and she was like _oh, the place I work at does awesome coffee and we're open past midnight_ , and I had to come by _immediately_. It is awesome coffee, too.”

“Glad our hard work is appreciated,” Miller says dryly. “Speaking of, I should really get back to it.”

“Oh gosh, I'm so sorry,” Monty says, flashing a smile at the impatient-looking woman standing behind him. She smiles back at him, and she's actually _polite_ when she gives Miller her order.

“Do you need a job?” Miller says, when she's disappeared with her coffee and a, “Have a good day!” thrown over her shoulder. “Because that was magical and Indra is literally always hiring.”

Monty laughs. Miller doesn't know why he's still here, why he's hanging around the counter instead of finding a seat or going home, but it's probably the coffee. It is really awesome coffee.

“I actually have a job, doing tech support for campus services,” Monty says, “but thank you.”

“Oh wow, you might actually have a worse deal than us,” Wells says, from where he's suddenly appeared at the counter. Monty jumps. Miller doesn't; he saw Wells coming. “Monty, right? You were awesome just now.”

Monty flushes, pleased. "Thanks. It was my first time playing outside my own room, so I was kinda nervous."

"You couldn't tell, like, at all," Wells assures him, and Monty grins. To Miller, Wells says, “Tell me you're booking him as a permanent thing.”

“Maybe,” Miller says, and Wells just looks at him, eyebrows raised. “Fine, he has a spot as long as he wants it.”

Monty's entire face lights up. “Seriously?”

“Pretty sure we doubled our takings tonight,” Miller says. “We only make more than this when Lincoln's performing, and that's because he has groupies.”

“I can get groupies,” Monty says immediately.

“I think you might already have groupies,” Wells says, and he's looking at Miller, but so is Monty, so he doesn't notice.

“Are you going to get back to doing your fucking job or what,” Miller says, and Wells grins at him.

“I should probably leave you to it,” Monty says, as Wells gets set up behind the counter again. “Same time again next week?”

Miller nods. “See you around.”

“Voice like an angel,” Wells leans in to say, once the door to the shop has shut behind Monty, and Miller says, like a sigh, “Shut up.”

*

>   
>  ♥ 136 likes  
>  **indrascoffee** say hello to our new resident performer, @montygreenmusic! -W
> 
> **montygreenmusic** hello me! and hello @wellwellwells  
>  **jasperrrrr** nerd  
>  **jasperrrrr** ♥

*

It doesn't take long for Octavia to get over her flu and get back to work. Miller doesn't tell Bellamy _I told you so_ , but he does make significant eyebrows at him, and Bellamy makes a vague grumbling noise, and Miller knows they're going to go through this all over again the next time she gets sick. He can't bring himself to be anything more than perfunctorily annoyed about it.

Miller has a shift with her after his Thursday afternoon class, and she's behind the counter talking to Maya when he gets in. Or, more accurately, she's cleaning the counter top, smirking, while Wells leans in and smiles fondly at whatever story Maya is telling. Octavia looks up when Miller comes through the door and waves at him. With her free hand, she pokes Wells in the side.

“Hey lover boy,” she says, “you can stop pretending you're doing any work now.”

Wells grins at them through his embarrassment, and Maya says, very sweetly, “Your jealousy's unattractive, O.”

Octavia sticks her tongue out at her; there might have been a time, once, when Octavia _would_ have been jealous, but that was probably long before they got an apartment together. Miller can't imagine living with his one of his exes; he and Bryan are still friends, in that they send each other memes every so often and like each others' social media posts, but he's not sure they could extend that to sharing the same living space.

It's quite a quiet shift, all things considered. Miller can't help but feel guilty for being relieved, given the exhaustion that seems permanently etched on Indra's face, these days, but he's tired, too.

He's thumbing at his term paper on his phone, not writing but thinking about writing, which should count for something, when he hears Octavia say, “Oh, hey, Monty.”

He looks up abruptly, putting his phone away. Monty smiles at them.

“Hey,” he says. “Latte and a brownie, please?”

“Coming right up,” Octavia says, and Miller remembers to move, get the coffee machine going. “I didn't think you'd be leaving the lab at all this week, don't you have a big project due?”

“Oh my god, don't,” Monty says. Miller can hear the grimace in his voice, even with his back to them. “I had to get out or I was going to kill someone. Possibly myself.”

Miller's gaze flickers over to him. Monty's smiling, but it doesn't quite touch his eyes.

“If you're here to work,” he says, makes himself say, “you picked a pretty good time.”

“Nah,” Monty says. “Gonna try and work on some songs. I figure the whole writing in a coffee shop thing's gotta be a cliché for a reason.”

“That's for your music thing, right?” Octavia says, and grins when Monty nods. “Miller said you didn't suck.”

“High praise,” Monty says, on a laugh. “Thanks, man.”

Miller hands him his coffee, puts it down beside the brownie, and Monty smiles. He does it so often it should mean something less, when it happens, but Miller still feels warm all over.

“Thanks,” he repeats, and takes his coffee and brownie over to a table in the corner.

Octavia gives Miller a sidelong look, but a bunch of people have just come in, so she doesn't ask the questions he can see in her eyes, just turns to the front and turns on a smile.

Halfway through their mid-afternoon rush, Anya comes in, nods briskly at the two of them, and then moves to go through to the back.

"Whoa," Miller says, blocking her path, "employees only."

Anya gives him her most deeply unimpressed look. It has turned people of weaker constitution to jibbering wrecks. Miller's seen it.

"Indra specifically said we weren't to allow you back there," Octavia tells her. "She's got a lot to do and doesn't want to be disturbed."

"She's also barely been home for the past week," Anya says, "so I'm going to use my concerned partner privileges to override that."

Miller exchanges a glance with Octavia. Indra won't thank them for it, but she does work too hard, and she's been working even harder, recently, and honestly it's not like either of them can really square up to Anya if she's determined.

"When she blames us," Miller says, stepping aside, "we tried to stop you."

"She won't," Anya says, rolling her eyes, "blame you," and strides past them to where Indra's holed herself up with paperwork.

"Ten bucks on Indra," Octavia says, as soon as the door's shut behind her, and Miller considers the bet for just a second – they're both as stubborn as each other, it's a pretty even toss up for who'll emerge victorious – before he says, "Done."

Ten minutes later, Anya and Indra emerge from the back room together, Indra in her coat and scowling, but in that soft way she only gets around Anya. Octavia makes a disappointed noise, which she quickly tries to play off as chagrin.

"You are both fired," Indra tells them, but she's still scowling, so Miller knows she isn't serious.

"Have a good night off," he says, giving her a cheerful mock salute, and Indra's scowl deepens, but then Anya rolls her eyes and loops an arm around Indra's waist to press a kiss to Indra's forehead, and Indra doesn't melt, exactly, but it's a very close thing.

They end their shift and change over with Gina and Roma, who check with Miller about the music – Luna, a friend of Lincoln's who started playing music with her band at Indra's on his recommendation – and ask where Indra is.

"Getting spectacularly laid, probably," Octavia says, shrugging off her apron. Gina's eyebrows go up. "Anya came to rescue her."

"Octavia owes me ten bucks," Miller says, because he's not just going to let her forget about something like that, and she huffs, but dutifully fishes a crumpled note out of her wallet.

Bellamy's in the kitchen when Miller gets home, so Miller nods at him and goes to wash up the dishes that've accumulated in and around the sink. He'd been meaning to, anyway, but Bellamy's making dinner, and Miller's going to be stealing some of that dinner, so it seems only fair.

(“It's not stealing,” Bellamy said, the one time Miller tried to justify himself, rolling his eyes. “I always make too much food, anyway, I never figured out how to do portions properly.”

“Still,” Miller said, and Bellamy said, “Still nothing, Miller, eat the damn food before I feed it to you,” and Miller had to grin.)

“Hey,” Bellamy says, “what is that?” Miller turns to frown at him, and Bellamy gestures expansively at Miller's general person, which really clarifies nothing. “You were humming something.”

“Oh.” Miller busies himself with the dishes, coughs. “Just something Monty played at Indra's the other day. It's catchy.”

“Oh, yeah,” Bellamy says, “Wells mentioned you two got pretty friendly.”

Miller shrugs. “How's Raven?” he asks, and it's pretty fucking transparent, as subject changes go, but there's no better way to distract Bellamy.

Sure enough, Bellamy rants for a full ten minutes about Raven's shitty new physiotherapist before he says, wounded, “Hey.”

Miller drains the now-empty sink and turns a smile on Bellamy, innocent. Bellamy shakes his head, but he doesn't push it, just shifts so Miller can pull himself up on the counter beside him.

" _Anyway_ ," Bellamy says, "she's off the crutches now and she's finally got a half-decent leg brace, so things are looking up. She's still not letting me help with her medical bills, though."

He shrugs, face carefully blank. Miller rolls his eyes.

"Hypocrite," he says. "When have you let me even cover your share of groceries?"

Bellamy points a ladle at him in what's clearly supposed to be a threatening manner. Miller licks the end of it and Bellamy makes a face at him, moves to the sink to wipe it clean.

They eat dinner on the sofa, Miller's feet under Bellamy's legs. Bellamy puts something on Netflix, but neither of them are really watching it; Bellamy's got his empty bowl balanced on his thighs while he thumbs through his phone, and Miller's trying not to think about his neglected study schedule, the pile of unread books in his room.

He lets his eyes close, just for a second, but the next time he opens them, the lights are off and there's a blanket thrown over him, tucked in around his arms. Miller sits up, exhaling slowly. The dirty bowls and cutlery are still on the table, so he takes them to the kitchen, dumps them in the sink, and then marches himself to his room so he can study.

*

>   
>  ♥ 83 likes  
>  **davidmiller935** Got Lacey back from the vet today. She's all clear, except for missing @itsnateural, as usual. #dogsofinstagram
> 
> **harpersichord** so cute! miller i'm stealing your dog  
>  **itsnateural** thanks for the update, dad.  
>  **itsnateural** @harpersichord you wanna fucking go

*

Miller's alarm goes off an hour before his first class, but he's already awake, staring at the ceiling. He's been awake for a while. He thinks about just skipping, but he already has so much to do. He doesn't need any more.

The snooze goes, and Miller fumbles for where he'd shoved his phone, switches the alarm off. He throws off the covers, rubs a hand over his face, and gets up.

He regrets this decision as soon as he gets to class.

"I just don't see how this is an actual response to the argument," Jasper is saying and, seriously, did he even do the reading, this was dealt with in the second section.

He glances across the table at Miller, as if waiting for him to say something in response. Miller raises his eyebrows, coolly disinterested. He won't be goaded that easily.

“Does anyone else share Jasper's confusion?” the tutor asks.

“No,” Miller says, bored, “because the rest of us actually did the reading.”

He gets a scatter of laughter from the rest of the room, and Jasper glares at him, and that sort of sets the tone for the rest of the class, really. Miller doesn't regret getting up any less, even if he's stopped being physically tired.

On Miller's way out of the building after class, Jasper stops him, one hand on his arm. Miller looks down at it, unimpressed. Jasper slowly lets go.

“I'm having a party later,” he says. “You should come.”

“Because we're such good friends,” Miller says, raising his eyebrows.

“Because you're cool.” Jasper shrugs. “Monty seems to think so, anyway, but he's a terrible judge of character.”

He's smirking, just a little bit. Miller carefully does not react.

“Paper's due soon,” he says, flat.

“All the more reason to drink ourselves into oblivion,” Jasper says, an edge to his smile, and that Miller understands.

He goes to the party, in the end. He brings Bellamy, because Bellamy is Miller's usual ticket to underage drinking, and Bellamy brings Raven, because of course he brings Raven. They do shots before coming, from something foul that Raven brings over to their apartment, and Miller is feeling pleasantly loose-limbed as he passes through the crowd of vaguely familiar faces.

He gets pulled into dancing by Harper, who's in his sociology class and sometimes performs at Indra's with her girlfriend, Monroe. The press of bodies, close, is exactly what he needs. He's feeling a bit dizzy when the music changes, though, so he presses a sloppy kiss to Harper's cheek and finds an unoccupied sofa to collapse on. He should be working now, he thinks, and swallows a hysterical laugh.

He's not alone for long, though. Someone drops down into the space next to him, and Miller is going to tell them to fuck off, the words are half-formed in his mouth, but then he turns his head. It's Monty, eyes lined and face glittery. Miller tries to swallow, can't.

“Hey,” he says, and Monty says, “Hey,” sounding about as drunk as Miller feels.

Miller doesn't know what to say. They've had, like, two conversations, and Miller knows that Monty has a voice that shivers through Miller's bones and that he writes songs about robots. Miller also knows, from Octavia, that Monty's majoring in Biology and minoring in Computer Science and has all these feelings about interdisciplinary research and Miller, weirdly, wants to ask Monty all about that, but he doesn't know how to casually work a question into conversation without making it obvious that he was asking around about Monty.

“Glitter's a good look for you,” Miller says, finally, and Monty must think Miller's making fun of him, because he grimaces.

“Jasper is an unstoppable force when it comes to shiny things,” he explains. “I'm going to be washing it off for _weeks_.”

“Yeah,” Miller says, all casual like his mouth isn't suddenly dry. “Where is Jasper, anyway?"

Monty makes a vague gesture around the room, which tells Miller nothing. “He hid my guitar,” Monty says, sounding mournful. “He says I'm not allowed to be That Guy, which is bullshit. Everyone likes the guy who plays guitar at parties.”

“Can't believe I'm saying this, but I agree with Jasper,” Miller says. “Everyone hates that guy.”

Monty pouts, ridiculously. “I thought you liked my music.”

“You weren't bad.”

“Even higher praise,” Monty says solemnly. “I'm holding out for _pretty good_ , though. Maybe even _wouldn't turn it off for Nickleback_.”

“Oh, I definitely wouldn't turn you off for Nickleback.”

Monty claps a hand to his heart, and Miller has to laugh, easy and bright. Monty smiles at him. It's just as distracting as the first time Miller saw it. Miller's going to say something else, he is, but before he can figure out what, Raven appears in front of them.

“Bellamy's going home already because he's boring and hates fun and I need somebody to do shots with,” she says, and then, “Monty?”

It turns out Monty and Raven are lab partners, because of course they are; college friendship groups are some six degrees of separation shit. She gets this knowing smile on her face when Monty's explaining how he knows Miller that makes Miller feel decidedly nervous, and also make a mental note to have words with Bellamy later.

“What were you saying about shots?” Miller says, before Raven can bring up how she already knows about how Monty and Miller know each other.

Shots are a terrible idea. Miller realises this too late, alcohol burning his throat and Monty leaning into Miller's side for balance. Miller feels pretty unsteady on his feet himself, but he concentrates hard on holding himself up, keeping Monty from falling over.

“Fuck,” Raven says, voice wavering like she maybe agrees with Miller. “I need some air.”

Monty nods. He glances at Miller, and his face is so close; Miller would barely have to move to press their mouths together. His head is so foggy, though. He's not sure he would make it.

Raven grabs their hands and tugs them outside, to the tiny balcony a bunch of people are smoking on. She elbows them aside, then pulls Monty and Miller down to sit on the ground with her. Miller ends up leaning against Raven's side and Monty ends up with his head in Miller's lap. Miller keeps thinking Monty'll pull himself up, but he doesn't, and his head fits so comfortably between Miller's legs.

Absently, his fingers wind into Monty's hair, scratch lightly at Monty's scalp, and Monty makes a sort of humming noise that Miller takes as encouragement. Miller shifts, just trying to get comfortable, and Raven hisses.

"Shit," he says, "your leg?"

"Is fine," Raven says, through gritted teeth.

"Bellamy said-"

"Bellamy worries too much," Raven says, and Miller kind of has to agree.

"Bellamy seems nice," Monty says, "is he your boyfriend?"

Miller isn't sure which one of them he's directing the question to, but Raven says, “Yeah,” her voice unusually soft.

"They're, like, basically married," Miller says, and Raven must be really drunk because she doesn't protest. A smile steals its way onto her mouth, and she turns her face into Miller's shoulder.

“Aww,” Monty goes, smiling up at Miller.

“Bellamy and Miller are married too,” Raven says, “though in a more platonic sense. At least, that's what they tell me.”

“We're actually planning to elope over the summer,” Miller says, “sorry,” and Raven heaves a dramatic sigh.

“I knew our weird wobbly triangle couldn't last,” she says, shaking her head.

“Weird wobbly triangle?” Miller repeats, amused.

“Shut up,” she says, butting her head against his shoulder, “I'm drunk.” She frowns. “Though not as drunk as I was. Fuck. Do you guys want more alcohol?”

“I wouldn't say no to more alcohol,” Monty says, and Miller shrugs.

Raven pushes herself up onto her feet, only a little unsteady, and nods. “I'm gonna get more alcohol,” she says, and strides determinedly back into the apartment.

They lapse into silence, once she's disappeared, and it's not awkward, exactly, but it itches at Miller. Raven being there made it easier to talk to Monty; he didn't have to guess what the right thing to say was.

“So, like,” Miller says, into the silence, “do you wanna see pictures of my dog?”

Monty scrambles up immediately, eyes going wide. “Um, yes,” he says, “you have to know the answer to that question is always _why are you not already showing me pictures of your dog_ , Jesus, you're a monster.”

“I am the worst,” Miller agrees, getting out his phone to open his gallery. Monty shifts around, hooks his chin over Miller's shoulder so he can peer down at it.

“Oh my _god_ ,” Monty says, when Miller opens the first picture, and Miller says, “She's the cutest, right?”

Monty nods vigorously. His chin's kinda pointy. Miller doesn't shrug him off. “What's her name? How old is she? Can I steal her?”

“Lacey, six, and get in fucking line,” Miller says, rolling his eyes. “She lives with my dad on the other side of the country, anyway, I'm stealing her back when I get a place with a pet-friendly lease.”

“A most excellent plan,” Monty agrees, and then giggles. “Shit, I've got glitter on your phone.”

He rubs it off before Miller can tell him not to, and the screen changes. It's moved to a picture of Miller and Bryan from when they were still together, Miller's head turned to press a smacking kiss to Bryan's cheek, Bryan grinning all over his face.

“Shit,” Monty repeats, falling back a little, “sorry, I didn't mean- sorry.”

“It's fine,” Miller says, even though he feels abruptly cold. Where the fuck is Raven?

Monty nods, worries at his bottom lip. “Is that your boyfriend?”

“Ex,” Miller says shortly. Seriously, Raven should be back by now, Miller needs to be so much drunker than he is.

As if summoned by the intensity of his thoughts alone, Raven appears in front of them, a bottle in each hand and a lazy grin on her face.

“So I might have got distracted by shots,” Raven says, then looks at Miller properly. “You okay, man?”

Miller shrugs. “That for me?” he asks, and doesn't wait for her to protest before he tugs one of the bottles out of her hand.

Raven eyebrows at Monty, who sighs. "I accidentally flicked over to a picture of Miller’s ex."

"And Miller's being emotionally constipated about it?" Raven nudges Miller in the side. "Don't take it personally. Bellamy doesn't even know the whole story, and they talk about everything. Miller's just scared of feelings."

"The _cheek_ of you," Miller says, outraged, but he's smiling despite himself, the sour feeling in his gut slowly draining away.

*

>   
>  ♥ 46 likes  
>  **harpersichord** hey party people @mechanicalraven @wellwellwells @bell_amy
> 
> **hypogriffical** ...wells went to a party?  
>  **wellwellwells** I went to parties in high school, Clarke  
>  **hypogriffical** sleepovers at miller's where you talked about the guys you were into don't count  
>  **itsnateural** they do too, you're just mad you were never invited.  
>  **hypogriffical** lies and slander  
>  **hypogriffical** also: get on skype, I miss your terrible faces

*

Miller gets his term paper finished. It's the worst thing he's ever written, he's a fucking fraud, he can't do this, he _can't do this_. But it's five am, and he has to hand it in – a printed copy, in person, what fucking year is this – in four hours, and it's _done_.

He goes to the kitchen to get some kind of breakfast and finds Raven sitting at the kitchen table, laptop open in front of her. She looks up when he comes in and nods at him.

“There's fresh coffee in the pot,” she tells him, and pats his elbow as he goes past her to get to it. “Paper due today?”

“Paper due today,” Miller confirms, getting down a mug from the cupboard. “Insomnia?”

“Insomnia.” Miller makes a sympathetic face, and Raven shrugs one shoulder. “Mind if I keep watching this?”

“What is it?”

“Daredevil,” Raven says, and Miller says, “Fuck yeah, what episode are you on?” and when he's got himself some coffee, he pulls one of the chairs around to sit next to her.

That's how Bellamy finds them, a few hours later, when he gets up for his morning class. He blinks at them, bleary-eyed, and then starts making them all a fry-up. When it's done, he puts plates down in front of both of them, then sits on Raven's other side, pulling her into him to kiss her cheek.

They all head to campus together, Bellamy and Raven's bickering comfortable background noise. Raven doesn't technically have class for another few hours, but she feels weird being in their apartment when neither of them are home, though she'd never say it in as many words. They leave her at the corner by the gym, Miller turning away when Bellamy pulls her in for a goodbye hug, a kiss pressed to her temple.

The library's pretty busy, but Miller manages to snag a computer to print off his paper. He tries not to read it when he collects it from the printer, but even the brief flash of the now all-too-familiar words makes his knuckles clench with embarrassment.

It's done, he reminds himself. It's over. That's all that matters.

Jasper's handing his own paper in when Miller gets there. Monty's with him, and they're arguing about something.

Miller lifts his hand in a wave. He hasn't seen Monty since the party. Miller woke in the morning in an unfamiliar bed, with the vague memory of Monty saying, “Shh, I'll go sleep on the sofa, you're way drunker than me, _shh_ ,” still wearing all of his clothes but not his shoes. There was a glass of water on the bedside table, a note saying to just let himself out when he got up, and Miller drained the glass and stuffed the note in his pocket.

“Back me up on this,” Monty says, turning to Miller, “Matt Murdock would beat Bruce Wayne in a fight, right?”

Miller briefly considers this. “Right,” he says, and Monty holds up his hand for a fistbump, makes it explode like Baymax. Miller wonders if Monty has a song about him, too. If Jasper weren't there, he might ask, but as it is, Jasper's eyeing him sort of suspiciously. Miller gives him a sarcastic smile, drops his paper in the collection bin and then heads off, getting out his phone to text Raven to see if she's still at the gym.

She is, so Miller heads over, still thumbing through the notifications on his phone. He's paying attention to where he's going, enough not to trip over his feet, at least, but he still manages to bump into someone when he turns the corner.

“Sorry,” Miller says automatically, and looks up. He stops abruptly.

“No worries,” says Bryan, looking about as awkward as Miller feels. “Hey.”

Miller steps to the side, wary of the people already impatiently passing them. Bryan's hair's a little longer than the last time Miller saw him, a little more messy. It's a good look on him. Miller can admit that to himself without an accompanying painful tug in his chest, and that realisation makes him relax, enough to return the hesitant smile Bryan's offering him.

“It's good to see you,” Miller says, makes himself say, because it is, and Bryan visibly relaxing makes the effort it takes to be honest worth it.

“It's good to see you too,” Bryan says. “How have you been?”

“All right,” Miller says, “you?”

“Good, yeah,” Bryan says, nodding. “I've gotta run, but we should catch up properly at some point, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Miller says, even though he knows they probably won't, and that's okay. It's okay. They exchange another smile, more genuine, this time, and Bryan pulls Miller into a hug before they part ways.

*

>   
>  ♥ 76 likes  
>  **itsnateural** @mechanicalraven leaving everyone else in the dust #gymbros
> 
> **bell_amy** <3____<3

*

Miller spends late nights at the library for the next week. Bellamy gives him disapproving looks from the sofa when he gets in after midnight, but what does Bellamy want him do? There is so much he needs to do, and nowhere near enough fucking time. He takes his carefully highlighted notes with him to work, spends his breaks looking over them, gets whoever he's working with to quiz him when they have spare minutes. It's still not enough.

Today, he's in his usual spot. He headed straight to the library after class, miraculously found the table empty, and set his stuff down. He took out his headphones a while ago; the noise was just irritating him, barely even translating into music in his head. It's a quiet level, hardly even anyone whispering, and Miller tells himself the dead silence is an improvement.

He's trying to take notes. It isn't going very well. He keeps having to cross stuff out, stuff he got wrong when he tried to put it in his own words, and he hates doing that, hates marking up perfectly good paper, hates making a mess.

He switches to just reading instead, hoping something'll stick. The words are blurry. He can't focus. He's so mad at himself his hands are shaking. He reads the same sentence three times, writes it out twice, can't get it to connect to anything in his head at all. He's so fucking _mad_ at himself.

He struggles on for another half an hour. He makes a few more notes, makes it through a paragraph of his textbook, draws a long, satisfying gash through the open page of his notebook. Then he snaps it shut. He gathers up his stuff, shrugs on his jacket, and heads home.

Bellamy finds Miller sitting on the floor in the hallway when he gets back from class. He exhales, slow, then calls Octavia.

"Hey," he says, "can you cover Miller’s shift today? Yeah, in an hour." He looks at Miller, covers the phone, says, "She's asking about music."

"Lincoln," Miller says. "He knows what to do."

Bellamy nods, passes the information onto Octavia. When he hangs up, he squats on the ground, looks somewhere below Miller's chin.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Miller shakes his head.

“Do you want a hug?”

Miller nods, and Bellamy wraps his arms around him, squeezing gently. Miller exhales a ragged breath, but the next one comes a little easier.

“So here's an idea,” Bellamy says, stroking gently down Miller’s back, “we put on the most mindless action film we can find and aggressively cuddle while we tear it to pieces.”

“You don't have to-" Miller makes a face when his voice breaks, betraying him. "Raven's coming over, right?”

Bellamy shrugs. “She won't mind, it's cool. Unless you mind?”

Miller _should_ probably mind third-wheeling with his roommate and his roommate's girlfriend, but then again, hanging out with them should probably feel more like third-wheeling, and not just like hanging out with two of his friends. He shakes his head, and Bellamy smiles.

They put on some random B-movie Netflix throws up for them, and Miller settles in on Bellamy’s bed, leaning back against Bellamy’s chest. The doorbell rings halfway through the film, and Bellamy gives Miller a squeeze before getting up to answer it.

Miller gets out his phone, just to check his notifications; Octavia messaged him a bit earlier, saying _why didn't u tell me lincoln was hot im so betrayed_ , and then, _hope you feel less like shit xx_. Miller shakes his head, smiling. _hey_ , he sends back, _I tagged you in an instagram post, that's totally telling you_ , and then, after some deliberation, _thanks_. There's a friend request from Monty, too, twelve friends in common, and Miller thumbs over to his profile, hovering over the smiling face of his profile picture.

Raven pushes the door open as he accepts the request, Bellamy following behind her. “Feeling better?” she asks, and the smile drops off Miller's face. Miller knows there's nothing accusatory about Raven's question, but he still feels a bit ridiculous, like he needs to feel a certain level of shitty before he can qualify for support from his friends. Which he _knows_ is ridiculous, but still.

He just shrugs, and Raven comes over to curl up next to him on Bellamy's bed. Bellamy retakes his position on Miller's other side and, yeah, this should definitely feel more like third-wheeling. Miller's really glad it doesn't.

“This film is _terrible_ ,” Raven pronounces, barely a second later, and Bellamy says, “That's the point,” and Miller leans into Bellamy's side while they argue the merits of intentionally shitty movies.

They could go all night, have gone all night, actually, and Miller would be content to listen to them, soak up the companionship they're offering, but he only lets them bicker for a few minutes before he says, “Pacific Rim?”

“Fuck yes,” Raven and Bellamy say, simultaneously, because in some other universe they are piloting a Jaeger together, and Miller grins.

*

>   
>  ♥ 45 likes  
>  **mechanicalraven** movie night pt. 2 avec @bell_amy @itsnateural they were both crying at this point. #youcanalwaysfindmeinthedrift
> 
> **itsnateural** um  
>  **itsnateural** so were you????  
>  **mechanicalraven** I can't believe you would call me out on my own post.

*

Miller's finally got to the top of the waiting list for counselling, and he's been apprehensive since he picked up their voicemail letting him know he could come in for an appointment. On the day, he wakes up feeling nothing but emptiness and vague nausea. Bellamy makes them both breakfast, then walks Miller up to the building talking determinedly about anything but the appointment. Miller hugs him, on the steps. Bellamy watches him go inside, and it's probably just to make sure he doesn't just run away, but it's still comforting, the weight of his gaze on Miller's back.

He's sitting in the waiting room, leafing through a pamphlet for an eating disorder support group, when one of the counsellors' doors opens and Monty walks out.

Miller's first instinct is to hide, which is ridiculous, so when Monty clocks him and says, “Oh, hey,” Miller makes himself nod back. He's still frozen, but Monty just sort of nods, and after he's signed off at the front desk, he leaves without acknowledging Miller any further. Miller exhales.

The counselling session goes about as well as Miller expected. The counsellor asks the expected questions, Miller cries the expected frustrated tears, the counsellor says a lot of expectedly helpful things, and Miller comes out of it feeling better, sort of. More prepared to face the rest of the day, at least. The rest of the semester can come later.

He meets Bellamy on the fourth floor of the library, because that's where the Classics section is. Miller thinks it'll do himself good to have a change of scenery, and to not have to study alone. The counsellor seemed to think it was a good idea, anyway. Octavia's sitting with Bellamy, frowning over a book, but she looks up when Miller puts his stuff down opposite them and smiles at him.

“How'd it go?” she mouths, and Miller gives her a thumbs up. She grins, and so does Bellamy, looking up briefly to meet Miller’s eyes, and Miller ducks his head while he gets out his books.

He works pretty solidly up until fifteen minutes before his and Octavia's shift, at which point she gets up to hug Bellamy and tap Miller on the shoulder, nodding her head at the door. He nods back, starts gathering his stuff together. He didn't get a lot done, not enough – never enough – but he worked solidly, stopped himself whenever he felt his brain start to pinwheel over a particular point, sent O snapchats of his notes and moody face and watched her bite back laughter across the table. It was good. It was _good_.

“If you switched shifts with Wells for Lincoln,” Miller says, as they head into Indra's, “you're gonna be disappointed. He's not on tonight.”

“Actually,” Octavia says, “Wells switched with me so he could go out with Maya for their two month anniversary dinner.”

"Oh my god," Miller says, and Octavia says, "I know, right?" unable to keep the fondness out of her voice.

They dump their stuff in the back room, then switch out with Gina and Roma, getting set up behind the counter. “Trust me," Octavia continues, "I know what nights Lincoln performs on.”

Miller snorts, but really, he should've known. “Have you two-”

“Not yet,” Octavia says, cheerful. “I'm working on it, though, which is more than I can say for you.”

Miller frowns. “Lincoln's beautiful on multiple levels, but I'm not-”

“I wasn't,” Octavia says, rolling her eyes, “talking about Lincoln.”

“I don't know who you were talking about, then,” Miller says, and Octavia scowls at him, but she can't press him too much, not with the queue in front of the counter seeming to multiply with every second.

As soon as they get a quiet minute, Miller excuses himself to wipe down the tables, and Octavia narrows her eyes at him, but she hates cleaning up dried coffee, unidentifiable sticky stains, so she doesn't stop him leaving.

Things are a bit calmer by the time Monty comes in for his slot. Octavia spots him first, but Miller's already caught sight of him when she elbows him in the ribs to get his attention. He slants an unimpressed look in her direction, and she just grins, unrepentant.

“Hey,” Monty says, smiling at both of them. Miller makes himself smile back.

“Hey,” Octavia says. “Need a hand setting up? Please say yes, I need an excuse to do nothing for a bit.”

“Well, in that case,” Monty says, "I'm absolutely helpless and will require your assistance for at least the next ten minutes," and Octavia grins as she skirts past Miller to get out from behind the counter.

Miller doesn't watch them, because he has a job to do. He manages not to look over at the stage at all, actually, until he hears Monty say, “This is a song about wanting to die. Just a heads up, in case that's gonna be a problem for anyone.”

Miller's eyes snap to him. He doesn't expect to meet Monty's eyes, and it makes him freeze, the intensity of Monty's gaze. Monty smiles around the next line he sings, and then he looks away, shuts his eyes. Miller looks away, too.

Monty does the R2-D2 song immediately after, no preamble, then segues into something that sounds deeply familiar for the half minute it takes Miller to figure out it's a stripped back version of an old Fall Out Boy song. Miller has to smile.

“Miller,” Octavia barks, like it isn't the first time she's said his name, and Miller blinks. He moves towards the coffee machine, automatic, but aborts when he realises there's no one at the counter. Octavia's impatient expression morphs into a smirk. “I did wonder, you know, when you were asking me about him. It's nice to know I was totally right.”

“Don't tell him,” Miller says, and he doesn't mean for his voice to sound so- tense.

Octavia's face softens. “Hey, no,” she says, “of course. Between you and me, though?” She shrugs. “He asked about you, too.”

Monty's playing something upbeat, again; its almost irritating that he seems to be able to do everything well. Miller looks over at him, can't help it, but looks away before his gaze can draw Monty's own eyes.

“You're coming over to mine tomorrow, right?” Octavia says. As subject changes go, it's not the most subtle, but Miller will take it. “Everyone is, you can't be the only hold-out.”

“By everyone, I assume you mean _everyone_ ,” Miller says, smiling wryly.

“Plus Lincoln, since I figured he'd be more likely to be up for hanging out as a group first.”

“So we're cover for you flirting with him?” Miller guesses.

“Basically,” Octavia says cheerfully. “Don't ruin this for me, Nathaniel.”

Miller makes a face, but nods. “Looking forward to it,” he says, and Octavia beams at him.

*

>   
>  ♥ 348 likes  
>  **musicallincoln** thanks @wellwellwells for the great photo! from the show last night with @lunaandthenightbloods and @nykookyn. great to see so many of the usual crowd from @indrascoffee.
> 
> **indrascoffee** indra says you better thank her when you're famous -O  
>  **musicallincoln** I've already written the dedication. ♥

*

It's not exactly a party, not by Octavia's standards. It's just her main circles of friends and boxes of pizza and Disney movies on Netflix, and Miller likes it a lot more than Octavia's parties. Lincoln isn't there when Miller arrives, and when Miller flicks his gaze to Octavia, raises his eyebrows, she just gives a mournful shake of her head.

“The night is young,” she says, and Miller pulls her into a brief hug before grabbing a slice of pizza and flopping down a spare bit of floor.

Wells and Harper are on either side of him, and he gets seized on by Wells immediately.

“Tell Harper,” Wells says, “that Lilo and Stitch is the best Disney film of all time, and it has to go on next.”

“I'm not denying that Lilo and Stitch is a fucking amazing film,” Harper says, like this a well-rehearsed argument, “but where are the _songs_ , Wells.”

“It doesn't need songs!” Wells says, outraged, and Harper shakes her head mournfully.

“We were watching Mulan before this,” she tells Miller, and Miller says, “Shit, I missed Mulan?” and Harper points at Wells like Miller has somehow proved her point.

“Ohana,” Wells says, with dignity, “means family. And family means-”

“Nobody gets left behind,” the entire room choruses, on cue, and Wells raises a finger like this, somehow, has proved _his_ point.

The argument continues for another ten minutes, until it's broken up by the intro theme for Lilo and Stitch suddenly playing. The room goes quiet, and everyone turns to look at Maya, who's holding the remote. She shrugs.

“No one could agree,” she says, smiling innocently, “so I made the executive decision.”

“Fine,” Harper says, narrowing her eyes at Wells, who leans across to high-five his girlfriend, “but we're putting on The Lion King next.”

They do put on The Lion King next, and they're all halfway through a very involved sing-along to I Just Can't Wait to Be King when the doorbell goes. Eyebrows raised, Miller looks over at Octavia, who's already getting up to get the door.

Miller hears her say, “Hey,” and across the room, Bellamy's eyes snap up at the tone of her voice, but Raven pokes him in the side and he looks away, shaking himself a litle. Octavia returns to the room with Lincoln a few minutes later, and introduces him to the half of the room that hasn't already met him as, “Lincoln, this guy who plays music at Indra's sometimes, he's _awesome_ and you all need to hear him sing, like, immediately.”

Lincoln ducks his head, a pleased smile on his face. “Octavia exaggerates,” he says, and, “It's lovely to meet you all,” and that's that half of the room in love with him, too. Any hold-outs are basically doomed by the time Be Prepared comes on and Lincoln joins in the singing. Even Bellamy looks endeared, and Octavia isn't being subtle at all, leaning right into Lincoln's space and touching his arm. Octavia glances over at Bellamy as the film finishes, and they have a silent conversation that seems to take place mostly through their eyebrows, before he gives her a thumbs up, and Miller sees Octavia relax.

They're arguing about what movie to put on next – it's looking like a toss up between Beauty and the Beast and Anastasia, “Because everyone assumes it's Disney, anyway,” Monroe says, “and also it's fucking amazing,” but it splinters the argument into Disney purists versus those for the inclusion of other animation studios, and what about Pixar movies made before the acquisition by Disney, come on, Harper, Toy Story _has_ to count – when the doorbell goes again.

Miller frowns. Everyone Octavia regularly hangs out with is already here, and nobody's ordered food since the pizza they got two films ago. He flicks a look at Octavia, who's very determinedly not looking at him, and when she returns, it's with Monty and Jasper in tow.

“Settle the argument for us,” she's saying, as she comes back into the room, “Beauty and the Beast or Anastasia?”

“I thought you were having a Disney marathon,” Monty says, frowning, which makes Harper say, “ _See_ ,” and Monroe sigh heavily, defeat conceded.

 _yr dead to me_ , Miller texts Octavia as Monty and Jasper are getting settled on the other side of the room from him, and Octavia looks up at him and grins.

 _Jasper wanted to come along_ , is the message he gets back, _and I said he could bring Monty if he wanted_ , which Miller doesn't even bother dignifying with a response. When he looks up from his phone, scowling, Wells glances between Miller and Monty and rubs a hand over Miller's shoulder. Wells is Miller's favourite.

They watch Aladdin, after, at Octavia's request – “Just because you want Monty and Lincoln to duet on A Whole New World,” Maya says, and Octavia says, “ _Everybody_ wants that,” looking triumphant at the hum of agreement that follows – and spend another ten minutes arguing before settling on The Hunchback of the Notre Dame, because Raven's somehow managed to go her whole life without seeing it, which Bellamy pronounces a terrible tragedy.

It's well into the early hours of the morning by the time its credits roll, and Bellamy's mostly asleep in Raven's lap. She pokes him in the side, and he makes a vague mumbling noise and turns into her knee. She rolls her eyes, but it can't cover the fondness in every line of her face. It feels as good a time as any to call it a night; everyone gets their stuff together so they can leave, and then Raven gently shakes Bellamy awake so he can get himself on his feet.

“I wasn't asleep,” he says, and she hums, and he says, “I _wasn't_ ,” glaring at her, and she just grins back at him.

They all pile out of Maya and Octavia's flat, into the brisk cool of the night. Monty falls into step beside Miller, smiles at him, says, "Hey."

Ahead of them, Miller sees Jasper talking to Harper and Monroe. "Hey," he says to Monty. "You and Lincoln should do a joint set at Indra's, you know. You're pretty good together."

"Pretty good," Monty repeats, smiling, "I'll take it. Maybe we can recreate Aladdin."

"We'll do a Disney night just for you," Miller says, "costumes and everything."

"I would be a great Jasmine," Monty agrees. "You could make Disney-themed drinks, too. Like a cocktail night but with coffee."

"I'll Make a Man Out of Brew," Miller says, without missing a beat, and Monty laughs delightedly.

"You've just been waiting to use that," he says, "haven't you?"

"I have a list of coffee-related puns ready to use for themed nights," Miller says. "I just have to convince Indra they're a good idea, and not just gimmicky."

"They're a bit gimmicky," Monty says, and Miller says, "But they're also a good idea," and Monty grins.

"Hey, I'm up for it," he says, "if you need back up for the convincing."

"I'll tell her we already have a paying customer who's interested," Miller says. "The amount you come by, you're probably enough convincing."

Monty shrugs. "It's pretty awesome coffee," he says, "even without the puns."

"Yeah," Jasper calls back, turning to smirk at Monty, "because it's the coffee you keep going for."

Monty scowls. "Hey, my secret love affair with Wells's brownies is supposed to be _secret_."

"You don't need to hide your love from me," Wells says, very solemn, from where he's walking with Lincoln, "it's okay, I can share."

They part ways a few streets later, Monty catching up with Jasper, and Lincoln and Wells veering off in the same direction as Harper and Monroe. Raven walks Miller and Bellamy home, still half holding him up, and as Miller gets their door unlocked she says, too casual, "I should come up with you. I'm not sure he can make it to bed by himself."

Miller raises his eyebrows, but doesn't say anything, and Raven's smile is tentative. He holds open the door for her, then follows them upstairs to the apartment.

*

>   
>  ♥ 387 likes  
>  **musicallincoln** @indrascoffee with @montygreenmusic – thanks to @itsnateural for the photo!
> 
> **octaevian** why did no one tell me this was happening???????  
>  **itsnateural** I got video too, don't worry  
>  **octaevian** @itsnateural my fav ♥

*

Miller spends a lot of his free time in the library, these days. Mostly he tries to study with people – he's not sure why it helps, yet, but he knows that it does, and really that's all that matters – but Wednesday evening after work finds him in a booth by himself. It's not that he couldn't ask around, see if anyone else was in the library, or wasn't but still wanted to come study with him, but he thinks about sending out a message asking for company and just feels- weird.

It's not too much of a problem. He's made progress, three more pages of notes than he had before he got here, but he stalled out halfway through the fourth page, hasn't been able to make himself focus in what feels like hours, has probably been only minutes.

With a sigh, he gets up, leaving his stuff at the mercy of the good will of his fellow classmates, and heads to the vending machines. He gets himself the kind of shitty cup of coffee that would make Indra fire him on the spot if she saw him drinking it, but it's also approximately eighty per cent caffeine, so Miller can't complain. He takes the open cup back to his desk, blowing lightly to try and cool it down to something approachable drinkable, and feels a vague tug of disappointment when he sees that no one stole any of his things while he was gone.

He drinks the coffee too quickly, manages to burn his throat and tongue despite his best efforts. He gets to the end of the fourth page, finally, but he's tense all over and his chest's gone tight, his breathing shallow.

“Fuck,” he whispers, and if he didn't feel like it'd be obnoxiously dramatic for such a crowded space, he'd let his head drop to the table and keep it there.

He puts down his pen, swears again at his shaking hands, the tension in every inch of his body. Coffee, he decides, was a terrible idea; half a page of notes isn't worth this. Swallowing his pride, he gets out his phone and thumbs out a message to Bellamy.

 _I'm on the fourth floor_ , he gets back, almost immediately, and then, _be right down_.

True to his word, Bellamy stops in front of Miller's booth only a few minutes later. He takes one look at Miller and says, “Yeah, no, we're taking a break.”

Someone shushes him, but this isn't a quiet floor, and there are people in groups talking far louder than they are. Bellamy doesn't even acknowledge it.

“I haven't done enough to take a break yet,” Miller says.

“Shut the fuck up,” Bellamy says, and stands stubbornly in front of Miller's desk until Miller sighs and gets up.

Bellamy leads him outside, takes up a patch of grass in front of the library. It's warm enough by this point in the year that there are more than a few people clustered around, making the most of the good weather. Miller tries not to think about the work he isn't doing and sits down on the ground, picking at blades of grass.

“You're heading home for spring break,” Bellamy says, “aren't you?”

Miller nods. Bellamy and Octavia settled here when they both ended up at the same college, so they don't have anywhere else to go for holidays, anywhere else to call home. Miller only envies them when the weight of being such an enormous disappointment feels like just a bit too much to bear.

(Miller has never heard his dad call him a disappointment, and he never will; David Miller would be appalled to hear those words out of his own mouth, and wouldn't stand to hear them out of anyone else's. Miller doesn't have to hear it to know that it's true, though.

His counsellor purses her lips when he says things like that and tries to probe, but the three months of community service he did for petty theft when he was fifteen are on his record, had to be disclosed to the college. She should already know.)

“You and O got plans?” he asks, and Bellamy shrugs.

“Same as usual,” he says. He looks down, clears his throat, then looks up again. “It'll be us and Raven, this year. She's probably gonna be at our place a lot. Her lease is up and she hasn't found anywhere else to stay yet. That's cool, yeah?”

“No,” Miller says, monotone, “I hate Raven,” and Bellamy narrows his eyes.

“Dude, don't even joke,” he says, “I'd have to actually fight you.”

“Of course I don't mind,” Miller says. “Raven would be an awesome roommate. She doesn't even live with us yet and she already washes up more dishes than you do.”

“I _feed you_ ,” Bellamy says, mock-outraged, and Miller grins back at him. There's a beat, and then a smile steals onto Bellamy's face. “You said _yet_.”

Miller rolls his eyes; Bellamy had been _worried_ about this. “Of course I don't mind,” he repeats, “god, Blake, you're a fucking tool.”

“I know,” Bellamy says, cheerful.

There's another silence, stretched out and comfortable. Miller's stopped picking at the grass, has his head tilted back to look up at the clear sky.

“Hey,” Bellamy says, sudden, “are you okay?”

Miller doesn't have to lie to Bellamy. He shrugs. Bellamy nods, like that was the answer he expected, and pulls Miller into a brief hug.

“We're gonna be okay,” he says, and Miller knows he's right, that even if things don't end well, they will, eventually, end, and that's its own kind of peace. He hugs Bellamy back, squeezes against his side, then gets up, nods his head in the direction of the library. Bellamy gets up too, then follows Miller back inside.

*

>   
>  ♥ 53 likes  
>  **octaevian** library times with @bell_amy and @itsnateural #studygram #mynotesaresoprettybutsouseless
> 
> **mechanicalraven** you guys still there?  
>  **octaevian** y, third floor  
>  **itsnateural** of course we're still here. we ate the seeds of academia and ambition and now we're trapped here, like persephone in hell  
>  **bell_amy** ok but no persephone totally ate those seeds to escape her overbearing mother and reign as queen of the underworld have you been listening to me at all  
>  **octaevian** @mechanicalraven pls come save us

*

There's a massive end of semester party at some big house on the other side of town. Miller turns up with Harper, who knows at least one of the people responsible for the party, but quickly loses her to the crowd. He doesn't mind, or at least he doesn't until he heads for the kitchen in search of the beer keg and finds Bryan there.

It should be fine – it's a party; six degrees of college friendship groups; they've been broken up for long enough that things are starting to be okay between them again – but someone's got him crowded against one of the counters, and however fine Miller is with seeing Bryan, just seeing him, that apparently doesn't extend to seeing him like this.

He backtracks out of the kitchen before they can spot him, pushes his way back through the crowded hallway until he gets to the stairs, stumbles up into the quiet. Quieter, anyway. The party doesn't seem to have migrated here yet, but Miller can hear the soft strains of a guitar coming from one of the rooms, accompanied by a familiar voice. Miller's feet are moving before he makes a conscious decision to move himself.

Monty's lying on the bed when Miller pushes open the door, guitar resting on his belly. He sits up abruptly when the door opens, hand hitting the strings to silence them, and just stares at Miller for a second. Miller thinks he should probably say something, since he's the one who just barged in, but he doesn't know what. He's not even sure why he's here.

“I found a guitar,” Monty says, a little unnecessarily, but at least it breaks the silence. “Fox said it was cool, I didn't just go rifling through random people's things.”

“I figured,” Miller says. He remembers Harper mentioning Fox, now. Six degrees of college friendship groups, he needs to stop hanging out with all the same people, seriously.

Monty nods. “What's your excuse?”

Miller hesitates for a second, and then says, “My ex is making out with someone downstairs.”

“Ah,” Monty says, like he understands, which, whatever, Miller doesn't even understand. He broke up with Bryan. He doesn't want to get back with Bryan. He doesn't even want to kiss Bryan. He just wants this hollowness in his chest to shift.

Monty shifts up, still holding the guitar, and Miller gratefully takes the space that's opened up. “Thanks,” he says, and Monty shrugs. “Sorry I interrupted you. You can go back to playing if you want.”

“Oh, _can_ I?”

“I like your music,” Miller says, and it sounds, for a second, just a little bit too much like _I like you_ , but if Monty picks up on it, he doesn't say anything. He just grins, wide and delighted.

“Got any requests?” Monty asks, starting to strum a few chords on the guitar. Miller tries not to stare at Monty's fingers, moving expertly over the strings. “Can't promise anything, but for that kind of praise, I'll try pretty much anything.”

“Anything, for you,” Miller sings out on impulse, and even though he's very much off-key, Monty grins at him. “What were you playing, before?”

Monty ducks his head, cheeks flushing. “Uh. Anything but that? It's just something I'm messing about with. It's still pretty rough.”

Miller shrugs. “I thought it sounded good.”

“That's gonna stop working, you know,” Monty tells him, and Miller smiles, softer than he means to. “I guess I could use some feedback.”

He starts playing, humming along instead of singing the words Miller could only faintly hear before, and it is rough, especially the transitions, but it's also just really, really good, and it'll be even better when it's done. Monty's got his eyes closed, but Miller has to pay attention, can't let himself get distracted by the slight changes in Monty's expression as the song progresses, the way his eyebrows crease and resettle, when the song hits an emotional crescendo and Monty bites his lip.

“So what's the verdict?” Monty asks, when it's over. “Don't be too harsh, yeah? I'm a musician, I'm sensitive.”

He's smiling, but he's also curled over the guitar, slightly, clutching it to himself like it's a barrier between them. It's weird to think of Monty as being nervous, scared, anxious; he always seems so confident whenever Miller sees him.

“The transition from verse to chorus doesn't quite work,” Miller says, and Monty's entire body slumps, just for a second, “but otherwise, it's really fucking good. You should play it next time you're at Indra's.”

Monty's smile is tentative, small, and he says, “Thanks. What do you think doesn't work?”

Music isn't Miller's thing, beyond general aesthetic appreciation, but he knows what sounds good and what doesn't, so he offers what opinions he can, and Monty nods and tries all his suggestions, no matter how trivial.

“So how's this,” Monty says, and plays through the verse to the chorus again. Miller feels his breath catch, and doesn't exhale until Monty stops, looks up at him expectantly.

“Yeah,” he makes himself say, trying and failing to swallow. “Yeah, that's- yeah.”

Monty nods. He opens his mouth like he's going to say something, then closes it, bites his lip. Miller waits, gives him time, but before Monty can make the words, someone's phone buzzes.

Miller checks his phone; he has a few messages from Harper, first _??????_ , then _where r u loser_ , then _fiiiiiiiiiiiiine be unsociable_ , but nothing that was sent recently.

“Jasper just got here; he wants to know where I am,” Monty says, and Miller makes a face, but then Monty says, “He has weed on him,” and Miller perks up.

“Does he share?”

“He will if I tell him to,” Monty says, and Miller grins.

Jasper's waiting at the back of the house when they get downstairs. He pulls Monty into a quick hug, then shifts his gaze very obviously to Miller and back, raising his eyebrows. Monty makes a face that clearly means more to Jasper than it does to Miller, because Jasper makes a face right back, but after a few seconds of what looks like some kind of stalemate, Jasper sighs.

“Fine,” he says.

He's got a joint already rolled, and he passes it to Miller after he's had the first smoke. Miller nods at him, and Jasper nods back before turning to Monty.

“So you're definitely gonna need to stop me actually murdering Cage,” he says, clearly picking up from a conversation they left half-finished, and Monty shakes his head. Miller thinks that's gonna be it, that he'll just be standing there while the two of them talk. Which is fine. He should've expected it. He's already planning ways to subtly withdraw back to the party when Monty glances at him and explains, “Cage's Jasper's boss. He's an asshole.”

“The biggest asshole,” Jasper corrects, huffing. “Nothing I ever do is enough for him. I don't even know what he wants from me, at this point.”

“Your left kidney,” Monty says, and Jasper says, “ _Probably_ ,” and the two of them laugh. Miller still feels a bit out of place, but kind of like how he does when he's hanging out with just Bellamy and Octavia. Bellamy's better at explaining the inside jokes, these days, now that he's got used to it not just being the two of them, but Miller doesn't hold it against him. It's easy to forgive Monty and Jasper, too, especially with the weed breaking up any remaining tension. Miller passes the joint to Monty, and their fingers brush, and that's good, too.

“Right,” Jasper says, when the second joint's burnt down to the filter. “I'm gonna head inside.”

“I think I'm gonna stay out here for a bit,” Monty says, tipping his head back against the wall to stare up at the sky. “'s nice.”

Jasper glances between Monty and Miller again, and Monty rolls his eyes, which seems to be answer enough for the questioning look on Jasper's face.

“I guess you'll be staying, too,” he says to Miller, and Miller shrugs. Jasper flicks a look at Monty, raises his eyebrows. Miller's head's too hazy for him to figure out what it means, and Monty scowls at Jasper before Miller can ask him to explain. Jasper grins, quick and wicked, and runs a hand through Monty's hair to mess it up before he heads back into the house.

“Asshole,” Monty says, and Miller just shrugs, because he's hardly going to disagree, but he's not gonna dwell on negativity when he feels this loose. He doesn't smoke a lot, only when he's with people who are, but he likes the way it makes his head quiet, steadies his shaking hands.

His phone vibrates; it's Harper, again, but this time she's sent only five lips emojis. Miller frowns at it, uncomprehending, but then a second message buzzes in. _Jasper says you and Monty are outsiiiiiiiiiiiiide togetheeeeeeeeeeeer_ , it says, and Miller rethinks not dwelling on negativity.

Fuck you both, he sends back, then puts his phone away. Monty tilts his head at him, a question, and Miller shrugs.

“Asshole friends,” he says, and Monty holds his hand out for a fistbump.

“Ba la la la la la la,” he says, like before, and Miller grins.

“You really like robots,” he says, “huh.”

“Robots are categorically the coolest thing ever,” Monty says. “You can disagree, if you want, but you will be wrong.”

“I don't know,” Miller says, not because he actually does disagree, but because he likes seeing Monty like this, enthusiastic and intent. “I, for one, do not welcome our future robot overlords.”

“Okay, first, the assumption that robots would look at us and want to enslave us is deeply fucked up and says way more about humanity than it does about robots,” Monty says, “and _secondly_ -”

He jumps into a clearly prepared rant, and Miller turns his head away to smile, shake his head, soak up whatever feeling this is that's seeping into his bones.

Monty breaks off in the middle of a sentence to grimace. “Sorry," he says, "I talk too fucking much when I'm high. You should've just told me to shut up.”

Miller shrugs. “I didn't want you to shut up,” he says. It's more honest than he'd be sober, but he doesn't want to take it back, doesn't even think about regretting it, especially when Monty smiles. “Octavia said you're doing Biology and Comp Sci, so I guess you'll be building the robots that eventually take over the world?”

“They're not gonna take over the world,” Monty grumbles, but he's still smiling, so there's pretty much no edge to it. “I don't know. I do wanna do something with robots, that's for sure. I'm a giant nerd, okay, of course I've always wanted to work with robots.”

“That's really cool,” Miller says, and means it. He looks down. “I don't really know what I want to do. I think it's great. That you do.”

“Don't let me having some idea about the future fool you into thinking I have my life together,” Monty says, and it's a joke and it's not, and Miller remembers seeing him at the counsellor's office, thinks about the song he did the last time he played at Indra's.

“No one I know has their life together,” Miller says. “Maybe Bellamy, I guess, because he's so busy taking care of other people he doesn't have time to worry about himself, but.” He shrugs. “We're all a goddamn mess. It's cool. I'm not sure we're not supposed to be.”

Monty laughs. “Deep,” he says. “They teach you that in your philosophy class?”

“Fuck you,” Miller says, no heat to it. “That's not what philosophy's about.”

“Yeah?” Monty says, like a challenge, or maybe like he's genuinely interested. Either way, Miller finds himself explaining, talking about the parts of philosophy he likes, the way it gets him thinking. It's a nice reminder, honestly, that he does genuinely like learning, that he isn't killing himself at college for nothing.

“Jasper makes it sound super wanky,” Monty says, and Miller says, “Oh, it really fucking is, but it shouldn't be, you know?"

"Yeah," Monty sighs. "Academia's such fucking bullshit, sometimes."

"And the rest of the time it's a nightmare," Miller says, and it's supposed to be a joke, but it hits just a little too close to home. Fuck, the weed must be wearing off. He tries to play it off with a grin. "I'm gonna get a drink, you want something?"

Monty shakes his head. "Cross fading," he says, and Miller shrugs. He's got bigger problems. "I'm gonna stay out here a bit longer, anyway."

Miller nods. "See you around," he says, and heads back inside.

*

>   
>  ♥ 96 likes  
>  **itsnateural** Lacey came to pick me up from the airport
> 
> View 16 comments  
>  **itsnateural** none of you fuckers are ever allowed to visit, I swear to god, keep away from my goddamn dog.

*

As predicted, Miller spends most of his break with Clarke and Wells. Clarke turns up on his doorstep the day after his flight gets in, and Miller's dad laughs an I-told-you-so kind of laugh. Clarke goes to college on the other side of the country, and Miller Skypes her with Wells, sometimes, and they see her during the holidays, but Miller still misses seeing her every day, misses it being the three of them.

“I'm stealing him,” Clarke announces to Miller's dad, who nods graciously.

“As long as you have him back by midnight,” he says, just like he used to, and Clarke salutes him, just like she used to. Miller missed her so much.

And then, basically as soon as the front door's shut behind them, Clarke says, “So who's Monty and why did I have to hear about him from Wells?”

“You're both dead to me,” Miller tells her, and Clarke grins.

“That serious, huh?”

“No,” Miller says shortly.

“Hey, I'm gonna tease Wells about Maya, too,” Clarke says, “and you can totally tease me about Lexa right back.”

Miller's mouth works for a second, and then he says, “It's not like that.” Clarke just raises her eyebrows, and Miller sighs. “Okay, so it might be like that, but I don't know what to do about it.”

“Make out with him,” Clarke advises, “or tell him you want to make out with him, that usually works better if you're gonna get rejected.” He feels his face do something complicated, and she grabs his hand, squeezes. “I know, I know, but is not knowing really better?”

“Absolutely,” Miller tells her, no hesitation. He doesn't blame her for not getting it; she's Clarke fucking Griffin. No one's ever turned her down. She can't understand, but Miller really wants her to. “Like, sometimes I look at him and I think I could, but I can't. I just fucking can't, Clarke. What if it fucks everything up?”

“Is this because of Bryan?” Clarke asks, frowning. “Because you didn't fuck that up, but even if you did, that doesn't mean you're, like, ruined for relationships now.”

“It's not,” Miller says, on a long breath, “because of Bryan.”

Clarke's quiet for a second, but then she nods. "Okay,” she says, “worst case scenario, he's a dick about it and you don't want to stay friends with him anyway. So real worst case scenario, he isn't a dick, he just doesn't want what you want, which sucks and might be awkward for a while, but you'll get over it because you're both fucking adults."

"I don't feel like a fucking adult," he says.

"Tough shit," Clarke says, “nobody does,” and it's easy for her to say, easy for her to reduce Miller’s life to a series of actions and consequences, but she also has a point. Miller hates it when Clarke's right. It's a good thing it doesn't happen that often.

"Yeah," he says, and Clarke nods at him like she's won, which really won't do at all. "So how am I teasing you about Lexa? I thought she was just your cute possibly gay partner for your ed psych project."

"Definitely gay," Clarke tells him, "and now, also, my partner in a romantic sense. Less definitely, we haven't really talked about it, but I'm, like, ninety per cent sure."

"What happened to talking about your feelings?"

"Do as I say," Clarke says imperiously, "not as I do," and Miller rolls his eyes at her.

She's still talking about Lexa when they get to the mall where they're meeting Wells, but she breaks off mid-story when she catches sight of him hanging about by the food court, tackles him in a hug not dissimilar to the one she gave Miller earlier.

“Good to see you too,” Wells says, fond, then nods over Clarke's shoulder at Miller.

“Shut up,” Clarke says, muffled into Wells's neck. “You two get to see each other all the time. I'm savouring this.”

Wells pats Clarke on the back, but he doesn't let go of her until she moves back.

When Miller gets home, later, the house is empty but for Lacey's nose butting at his hand the minute he walks through the door. His dad texted earlier saying he'd been called to the precinct and that there's a casserole in the freezer if he's not back before dinner; it's pretty definitely past when they'd normally have dinner, if they were eating together. Miller goes to the freezer to dig out the casserole, pours out some food into Lacey's bowl, too.

They eat in front of the TV, Lacey sitting on the ground at Miller's feet, and that's how Miller's dad finds them when he gets in from work. He gives Miller a tired wave, then comes to sit on the sofa next to them, scratching Lacey behind her ears.

"You all right, Nate?"

Miller starts to say yes, but he's tired, and he's in his childhood home, surrounded by all his old things, and what actually makes it out of his mouth is, "I've been going to counselling."

He's not sure what reaction he was expecting, but the total lack of surprise on his dad's face isn't it. "Is it helping?"

Miller shrugs. "I think so. I don't know. It's not not helping."

"I guess that's all you can hope for," his dad says, smile rueful.

Miller looks away. "Are you gonna cry?" he asks, tone purposefully light.

"No," his dad says, but Miller definitely saw tears pricking the corners of his eyes. "It's just- I'm so proud of you, Nate."

Miller wants to ask what for, he hasn't done anything worth being proud of, but his eyes are betraying him, too, and he's not sure he could get the words past the lump in his throat. He moves to hug his dad instead, and neither of them let go for a long, long time, until Lacey butts her head at Miller's nose and whines.

"I'll take her for a walk," Miller says, before his dad can say anything. He needs to be in bed, not being dragged around by a dog, and Miller thinks he could do with the walk. "Don't stay up too late."

"The cheek," his dad says, with a smile too wide for him to really mind, "of you saying that to me," and Miller smiles back at him.

*

>   
>  ♥ 78 likes  
>  **octaevian** family dinner with @mechanicalraven and @bell_amy!
> 
> **mechanicalraven** not the same without @itsnateural  
>  **itsnateural** you're in my spot.  
>  **mechanicalraven** we miss you too, asshole.

*

Miller's laptop breaks just before hell week. He's barely even using it, just scrolling through papers he'll have to make himself reread properly, later, when the screen abruptly goes black. He sits up, panic forming in his chest, but when he hits the power button, nothing happens. He leaves it a few minutes, wearing holes in his carpet as he paces the room, but when he tries to turn it on again, all he gets is a vaguely terrifying-looking error message he doesn't understand that it won't let him advance beyond.

Miller tries to breathe, can't. He doesn't know what to do, can't force himself to think around the panic clouding his brain. Bellamy won't be back from work for another hour or so, but he also breaks computers just by looking at them, so he wouldn't be much help even if he were here. Miller doesn't know what to do. Miller _doesn't know what to do_.

He picks up his phone, types out, _my laptop broke_ , and _help_. He gets a response almost immediately.

 _shit_ , Monty says, and then, seconds later, _where do you live?_

Miller types out his address without really thinking about it. Monty takes a bit longer to respond, this time, and Miller stares blankly at his phone, taps it against his leg.

 _right_ , Monty says, _i'll be about fifteen minutes_ , and Miller realises that, of course, that's why Monty asked for his address. He has to tuck his head into his chest, count out his breaths until they even out into something like regularity.

The doorbell goes almost exactly fifteen minutes later. Miller scrubs a hand over his face, takes a deep breath, then goes to answer it.

“Hey,” Monty says. He's wearing a faded Star Wars t-shirt under a lavender cardigan, and he's quite possibly the greatest thing Miller's ever seen. Miller doesn't trust himself not to tell Monty this if he opens his mouth, so he just nods. Monty steps inside, pats Miller on the shoulder, and says, “So where are we doing this?”

Miller leads Monty to his bedroom, points to the laptop lying on his bed. Monty nods and goes to sit beside it, picking it up and opening it as he places it on his lap. Miller looks away, so he won't think about other, much more pleasant, circumstances Monty could be on his bed under.

“Hey,” Miller says, clearing his throat, “you want a drink or something?”

Monty's frowning at the screen, but he looks up when Miller speaks. “I'm fine,” he says. “Might need a screwdriver, though.”

Miller nods. “One sec,” he says, and disappears into the kitchen to get the toolkit. He fills up a glass of water while he's there, anyway, and when he places it on his bedside table, Monty gives a little shake of his head. He's smiling, though, and it makes something ease a little in Miller's chest, just like always.

“Thanks,” Monty says, and accepts the toolkit off of Miller.

“You're the one doing me a massive favour,” Miller says, and Monty shrugs like it's nothing. “How fucked am I, exactly?”

“Well,” Monty begins, but before he can explain, there's the sound of a key in the lock, and then Bellamy's calling out, “Honey, I'm home!”

He sticks his head around Miller's door a few seconds later, checking in on him like he always does when he knows Miller's in the apartment, but stops in the doorway when he sees Monty on Miller's bed. Monty gives him a little wave, and Bellamy, looking vaguely bemused, waves back.

“My laptop died,” Miller explains, before Bellamy can ask any of the questions Miller can see on his face. “Monty's trying to fix it.”

“Trying being the operative word,” Monty says. “It might take a little while.”

Bellamy nods. “Is Monty gonna be staying for dinner?” he asks, and Monty probably can't pick up on the mockery in his tone, but Miller scowls at him anyway.

“By dinner,” Monty says, intrigued, “do you mean, like, you'll give me a slice of the pizza you're ordering?”

“I was thinking some of the chicken casserole I cooked for this week, actually,” Bellamy says, amused, and Monty says, immediately, “I'm staying for dinner.”

Miller snorts, and Monty glances at him. “If that's okay?”

“Dude, you came all the way here,” Miller says, and Monty does that shrug again. “Of course you can have dinner.”

“Feel free to call on me for all your tech-related emergencies, if I'm gonna get free food out of it,” Monty says solemnly, and despite Bellamy's amused expression still weighing Miller down, he laughs.

It does take a little while. Miller eventually stops hovering awkwardly by the door and perches on the end of the bed, just down from Monty, and Bellamy joins him when he brings them all bowls. Miller's content just to watch, chewing nervously at the corner of his mouth, but Bellamy frowns at Miller's laptop and asks questions about what he's doing. Monty lights up when he talks, and Miller has to look away, can't deal with that on top of his anxiety.

“Right,” Monty says, eventually, and, “Prayer circle that that all worked, okay?”

Bellamy grabs Miller's hand, and then, after a second's pause, Monty's as well. Monty takes a deep breath, glances sidelong at Miller, and then presses the power button.

Miller's laptop comes back on.

“Fuck,” he says, with feeling. “Thank you, I don't- fuck.”

Monty ducks his head, smiling. “No problem,” he says. “Mine broke basically beyond repair before Christmas and I had a panic attack, I know your pain.”

Miller nods. The relief he feels when Monty hands back his laptop and he holds it in his hands, whirring and alive, is a tangible thing in his chest, and he wishes he had better words than _thank you_.

"I'm pretty used to being called on, anyway," Monty says, "tech support," and Miller nods.

"I figured," he says, even though he hadn't been thinking about that when he sent Monty a message, hadn't been able to think about anything through the static.

“I'll just,” Bellamy says, and takes their empty bowls to the kitchen, kicking the door shut behind him.

It's pretty much the opposite of subtle, but nothing changes in the air between them. Miller's not sure it should. Friends help friends fix their computers; this doesn't mean anything. Monty's looking at him like he always has, and Miller doesn't know what that means.

“I owe you one,” he says. “Not sure what I can help you with, but.” He shrugs. “If you ever need anything.”

“Anything,” Monty sings out, “for you,” and Miller smiles, soft.

After Miller's shown Monty to the door, shut it behind him, he turns around to find Bellamy waiting, leaning against the wall by the kitchen.

“Dude,” he says, and Miller sighs.

“I know,” he says, though what he's supposed to know, he's not sure.

Bellamy's quiet for a second, clearly thinking through what he wants to say, for once. “I know things are hard right now,” he says, eventually, “and that sucks, but you deserve to be happy, you know?”

“I know,” Miller repeats, though it's with even less certainty, this time. With a sigh, Bellamy detaches himself from the wall and comes over to wrap Miller in a hug.

*

>   
>  ♥ 94 likes  
>  **octaevian** date night with @musicallincoln ♥
> 
> **bell_amy** cute!  
>  **bell_amy** :/ raven stole my phone  
>  **bell_amy** hope you guys had a good night, it looks like you had fun.

*

At the end of his shift that week, Indra hands Miller his share of the tips and says, “You're getting the next few weeks off.” Miller opens his mouth to argue, and Indra continues, matter-of-fact, “If you try to come in, I'll fire you.”

“But I've got shifts-”

“Gina and Roma will be covering you,” Indra tells him. “And Octavia, and Wells. None of you are allowed back in my coffee shop until your exams are over.”

She's scowling at him, but she also pulls him into a brief hug after he's gathered up his stuff and says, “Seriously, go the fuck home,” and Miller gives her a mock salute before going the fuck home.

He gets in to find Bellamy and Raven on the floor, a pretty advanced game of Lord of the Rings Risk laid out between them. It's not an unusual sight to see; ever since Miller got back after spring break, Raven's been at their apartment more than she hasn't. It's never been explicitly discussed, but there's a duffel bag of her clothes in Bellamy's room and a shelf in the kitchen for the weird cereal she likes. Her textbooks are scattered around the living room, and Miller tripped over her crutches, once, and she still does the dishes more than Bellamy. He is, all things considered, more than cool with it.

Raven doesn't look up when the front door opens, but sticks out a hand to wave at Miller when it shuts behind him. Bellamy says, “Hey,” and, “Aren't you supposed to be at work?”

“Indra sent me home. Me and Wells and Octavia are banned 'til after finals.” He dumps his stuff on the ground and drags a chair around to watch their game. “How long have you been at this?”

“Hours,” Raven says grimly.

Miller nods. “And how long have you been waiting for Raven to make her move?”

“Hours,” Bellamy says, and Raven throws one of his Orcs at him. “Hey, _hey_ , that's cheating, you should have to forfeit your turn for that.” He's trying to scowl at her, but it has to battle with the smile on his face. “Miller, tell her she should forfeit her turn.”

Eyebrows raised, Miller reaches down to retrieve the fallen Orc and places it carefully back in Rivendell. Raven grins at him, and Bellamy shakes his head, mournful.

“Et tu, Brutus?”

“Hey, I'm Switzerland in this situation.” Miller shrugs. “I figure I've got to establish neutrality before Raven moves in for real.”

Bellamy, who had his mouth open to say something, chokes on nothing. Raven looks abruptly away. Miller frowns, just for a second, and then he rolls his eyes so hard it feels like they'll pop out of his skull.

“Oh, come _on_ ,” he says. “I know we weren't talking about it, but I figured you would've at least talked to each other.”

“Talking,” Raven mutters, “about _feelings_ ,” and Miller sympathises, he does, but this is ridiculous.

“This is ridiculous,” he tells Raven's smarting face and Bellamy's numb silence. He gets up, pushes the chair back to where he found it. “I'll be in my room if you need me to mediate, but, seriously. Feelings. Talk about them.”

“I hate you,” Bellamy says, very seriously, and Miller points a finger at him.

“Talk,” he says.

“Hypocrite,” Bellamy says, and Miller just shrugs.

In his room, he gets out his laptop. It's tempting to try and eavesdrop, make sure they actually have a proper conversation, but Miller forces himself to make up a revised study schedule for his finals instead. His counsellor said that would help; Miller likes having structure.

He gives it half an hour, then sends a message to their group chat: _safe to come out yet?_

 _Still hate you_ , he gets back, from Bellamy, and Raven sends back only a thumbs up. Miller shakes his head, and he's about to get up and go check they haven't spontaneously combusted in the living room – fire damage is expensive to repair – when he sees he has another message, this one from Monty.

_you in the library? I might actually throw myself in front of traffic if I have to read about immunology any longer. I hate that I have to study this shit???? I'm just here for the plants, I do not care about human people._

_sorry man, i'm at home_ , Miller sends back, and gets a sad-faced emoji in return before he can type anything else. He smiles despite himself, then, before he can second guess himself, types out, _can come meet you if you like, was gonna head down anyway_.

It's not exactly true, but it gets him a line of happy face response, so Miller thinks it's probably worth changing his plans for the evening. Anyway, he'll get so much more done if he goes to the library; it just makes sense.

 _I'm on the third floor_ , Monty says, _will dedicate my future album to you if you bring me coffee that hasn't come out of a vending machine._

 _deal_ , Miller says, then closes his laptop so he can get his stuff together.

Raven and Bellamy have not, in fact, set anything on fire. When Miller emerges from his room, they're curled up on the sofa, Raven's head on Bellamy's lap, his hand in her hair, their board game entirely forgotten.

“No sex in communal areas,” Miller calls out, and Bellamy throws a cushion at him. Miller catches it with a grin, and Raven sits up, laughing. “You guys are okay, then?”

Bellamy glances at Raven, and Raven's face softens out into a smile. “Yeah," she says. "You sure don't mind me moving in? It's gonna be hard to get rid of me if this is my place, too.”

Miller's tempted to say something sarcastic, but this is important, this matters; there's something vulnerable about Raven's face, something brittle about the practised bravado in her voice.

“Good,” he says. “We don't want rid of you. But I'm serious, no sex in communal areas. I'll be back from the library in a few hours, and I'll be really upset if that sofa's been used for anything other than cuddling.”

“No promises,” Bellamy says, and, “Don't stay up too late,” because he can't help himself, and Miller gives him the finger over his shoulder as he leaves.

*

>   
>  ♥ 39 likes  
>  **mechanicalraven** I won, but not before he put every last one of his Orcs in Rivendell. the hell, @bell_amy?
> 
> **bell_amy** that usually works :(((  
>  **octaevian** bell that has literally never worked, you're just a giant troll.

*

“Uh uh, no,” Gina says, as Miller approaches the counter, “we're under strict orders to throw you out on sight."

"Preferably avoiding physical injury," Roma says, "but Indra's not too fussy.” Her lazy grin says she's not too fussy either.

“I just want coffee,” Miller says, holding up placating hands, and Gina narrows her eyes at him. “I'm not even sticking around here, I'm going straight to the library.”

“A likely story,” Gina says, but she relaxes a little, and takes his order with only the slightest hint of suspicion still on her face.

He does, in fact, go straight to the library from Indra's, heads up to the third floor where Monty said he'd be. It's full of people, even this late into the evening, and it takes Miller some wandering around to find Monty. He's managed to snag a table to himself near some power sockets, and looks up as Miller approaches, eyes going wide at the sight of the coffee cups.

“Fuck the album dedication,” Monty says fervently, “I'm writing a song about you, and it will be called _You Won My Undying Love With Delivery Coffee_.” He makes a face. “Okay, that won't be the title because it's terrible, but that'll be the general sentiment.”

“I want that in writing,” Miller says, and gets comfortable opposite Monty. He gestures at Monty's laptop. “Biology?”

Monty shakes his head. “Coding. I was taking a break from freaking myself out about all the ways the human body is actually terrifying, but this might be worse.”

“How so?”

Monty takes a sip of his coffee and sighs. “The program's just not working, because it hates me.”

Miller frowns. “What's wrong with it?”

“If I knew that, I wouldn't be considering going back to bashing myself over the head with my immunology textbook.”

“Talk me through it, then,” Miller says. Monty narrows his eyes at him. “What? That's supposed to help, isn't it?”

“Maybe,” Monty grumbles, after a second. “Okay.” He launches into an explanation that Miller only vaguely follows, then stops halfway through a sentence and says, “Huh.”

“Huh?”

“I missed something really obvious,” Monty says, “of fucking course, it's always something really obvious, I swear to God I looked at this specific section of code eight times and I didn't see it.”

Miller squints at him. “How much coffee have you had already today?”

“I plead the fifth,” Monty says, not looking up from his laptop, “just in case you decide to confiscate the coffee you brought me. I'd have to write you another song, and this time it would be called, _You Toyed With My Heart And My Caffeine Addiction, Prepare To Die_. It would be an ode. It would be beautiful.” Monty looks up, forehead creasing. “On second thought, maybe you should do it. For the sake of art, and stuff.”

“I'm not gonna confiscate the coffee,” Miller says, “but maybe you should have a proper break soon, yeah?”

Monty lets out a long, careful breath. His fingers are paused over his keyboard where before they'd been a blur of movement.

“Maybe,” he says, quiet. “Yeah.”

Miller reaches in his bag for the box of Wells's brownies that Roma made up for him, pushes it across the table to Monty. Monty glances up at him, and he looks exhausted, but then his eyes light on the opened box, and he looks like he might cry. Miller doesn't know what to do. He pokes the box at him, licks his lips, drops his hand to worry at his other hand where its curled in his lap, stares hard at the table. Monty gives a wavering laugh.

“An entire album,” he says, eventually, and Miller looks up. Monty's not smiling, but his face is so soft. “I'm gonna have to write you an entire album.”

Miller shrugs. “Anything less than ten songs and I'm publicly calling you a fake,” he says, and Monty does smile, then, and it's like the sun coming out after a storm.

“Okay, so,” he says, “this is probably a weird thing to ask, but can you show me pictures of Lacey again? Dogs are, like, the best kind of stress relief.”

“This is true,” Miller says, and gets out his phone. He has a message from Bellamy that says _how's the date going ;)_ that he quickly swipes away, resisting the urge to glance at Monty to check if he's seen it. His dad's sent him some new pictures since Monty and Jasper had that party, so he goes for those first, lets his gaze slant sideways so he can see the way Monty's eyes light up.

"I say this about all dogs," Monty tells him, "but your dog is the best dog."

"Of course," Miller says, and Monty makes a happy-sounding sigh as Miller starts to flick through the gallery.

*

>   
>  **Bellamy**  
>  FREEDOM :DDDD
> 
> **Miller**  
>  thanks braveheart
> 
> **Bellamy**  
>  your heart is free  
>  have the courage to follow it

-

>   
>  **Raven**  
>  we're all heading down to the park this afternoon, bring soda.

-

>   
>  ♥ 66 likes  
>  **bell_amy** our very own rip van winkle @itsnateural
> 
> **itsnateural** motherfucker  
>  **itsnateural** I closed my eyes for five seconds  
>  **bell_amy** and the world had moved on so much by the time you opened them :(  
>  **itsnateural** but not enough for you to stop using emoticons, huh.

-

>   
>  ♥ 373 likes  
>  **musicallincoln** impromptu jam session with @harpersichord, @monroes and @montygreenmusic – thanks for inviting me out, @bell_amy!
> 
> **octaevian** bellamy invited you?  
>  **mechanicalraven** #characterdevelopment

-

>   
>  ♥ 97 likes  
>  **wellwellwells** so lucky to call these people my friends.
> 
> View 9 comments  
>  **wellwellwells** I try and be sentimental and you assholes just have to go and ruin it  
>  **bell_amy** and yet you love us anyway ;)  
>  **wellwellwells** yeah, I do.

*

Raven doesn't have a lot of stuff. Everything she owns fits in the tiny spare room of Wells's apartment, and they move it all over in one trip, Miller and Raven and Bellamy and Wells and Octavia and Maya. It all gets dumped in Bellamy's room, except for the boxes of books, which they take out to the shelves in the living room.

“Twilight,” Miller says, as he puts it away, “really?”

“Um, The Mortal Instruments,” Raven fires back, “you can't say shit to me.”

“That's Bellamy's,” Miller says, and Bellamy says, “Is _not_ ,” and Miller scowls. "Tamora Pierce," he counters, because there's an entire box dedicated solely to what looks like every book she's ever written.

"You're not shaming me for Tamora Pierce, that shit was formative," Raven says, and Bellamy and Octavia both say, "Agreed," at the same time. "Can we make, like, not making fun of each others' taste in reading materials an apartment rule?"

She's smirking, so she's probably kidding, but Miller stops short, spins slowly away from the book shelf to face everyone else in the room. "Oh, shit," he says, "we're gonna need apartment rules."

"We already have rules," Bellamy protests. "I make the food and you wash the dishes."

"I never agreed to that."

Bellamy shrugs. "I never agreed to no sex in communal areas."

"That's just sanitary," Miller says, and is gratified when Wells nods his agreement. "I mean, yeah, we have rules, but they're mostly implicit. That doesn't really work with more than two people."

"I'm not sure it works with just two people," Maya says dubiously. "Me and Octavia have a whole list of rules we wrote up when we moved in together."

Raven rips off a piece of paper from the pad by the door and scribbles RULES at the top, then:

>   
>  1\. no making fun of each others' taste in books  
>  2\. no sex in communal areas  
>  3\. Bellamy makes everyone food whenever they want  
>  4\. Raven and Miller share dish washing duty

She thinks for a second, then adds:

>   
>  5\. follow the chore rota  
>  6\. make a chore rota

She looks up at them all. "Anything else?"

"Talking about feelings is mandatory," Miller says, and Bellamy laughs.

"You sure you want to go there, man?"

Miller rolls his eyes. "I just mean with us,” he says. “Like, this isn't gonna work out if Raven doesn't tell us she can't stand the way we've arranged the furniture, or whatever, or if I don't tell you two that you're being especially obnoxious and I'm plotting ways to make your deaths look like an accident."

Wells nods his agreement again, but Harper, eyes narrowed, says, "How else would you mean it?"

"Nothing," Miller says, but it's far too late. Harper looks _delighted_.

"Miller," she says, "are you having feelings you need to talk about?"

"Is this about Monty?" Monroe asks, and Miller raises his eyes to the heavens.

"How does everyone know about Monty," he says, and Harper smiles wickedly.

"So that's a _yes_ , then."

"That's a _fuck off, I'm going to work_ ," Miller says, getting to his feet. "You can unpack the rest of Raven's shit without me."

"But you're not in work until later," Wells says, and Miller shrugs, grabbing his bag off the hook.

"Don't make any new flat rules 'til I get back," he says, pointing a finger at Raven, who just smiles sweetly back at him.

It's just Gina behind the counter when Miller gets to Indra's, and she looks surprised to see him come through the door.

"You're in early," she says. "You miss us that much?"

"My heart ached every moment I wasn't here," Miller says, coming to join her. "Quiet shift?"

"Yeah," Gina says. "Roma went out for a smoke, and I've basically just been on Tumblr since she left."

She holds out her phone, and Miller shifts to see the screen, snickers at the post she's got up to show him.

"So I was thinking," Gina says, after a second, "that we should do a showcase. For our performers. I think it'd be nice to dedicate a night to them."

"Sure," Miller says. "If Indra's okay with it."

Gina grins. "I already asked Indra, but she said I should talk to you about it first."

"Oh," Miller says, and a surprised smile spreads on his face. "Then yeah. Sounds like a great idea. I'll talk to the performers and get everything organised."

"Already done," Gina says. "Monty wanted it to be Disney-themed, for some reason, but I thought it'd be better to give everyone free reign.” Miller laughs, surprised again; he didn't think Monty would even remember that conversation. “Unless you think a theme would be a good idea?"

"Hey, it's your night," Miller says, and Gina says, "It's _your_ night, we wouldn't have any of it without you," and Miller's smiling again. He didn't miss the asshole customers, or being on his feet all day, but he missed this, missed being here in this place he loves with so many people he loves.

"Nah," he says, "it's probably too gimmicky."

*

>   
>  ♥ 189 likes  
>  **indrascoffee** if you've never had the pleasure of seeing one of our acts perform live, now's your chance! more details to follow – watch this space. -G

*

Miller's working the night of Gina's showcase, behind the counter with Wells, but they're all in the shop to help get everything set up. Bellamy and Raven show up with Octavia, and quickly find Gina to make themselves useful.

Miller and Wells don't get a free minute until twenty minutes before it's supposed to start, and the queue clears enough that Miller can take coffees out the back to where the performers are waiting. He's going to head right back out, can't leave Wells on his own on what's shaping up to be the busiest night he's ever worked, but Monty's sitting on his own at the back of the room, head ducked, face pale. Miller stops in front of him.

"Here," he says, handing over Monty's coffee. "You all right?"

"You'll hate me if I throw up all over the floor," Monty says, "right?"

"You know where the mop and bucket are," Miller says, and Monty laughs. It's a bit ragged, but it sounds genuine, and that's what matters. "Would a hug help?"

"I'm pro hugs, like, as a rule," Monty says, and Miller smiles, moves so he can put his arms around Monty. Monty twists around so he can hug Miller back, and it's nice. Almost as good as Bellamy's hugs, even. "Thanks. I'm not actually going to throw up, I don't think? I'm like 70% sure."

"Good enough for me," Miller says, and doesn't move back. "You know you're gonna be fucking amazing out there. You always are."

Monty laughs shakily. "Thanks for the confidence boost, man."

"I mean it," Miller says, and Monty just kind of clings to him for a second. Definitely as good as Bellamy's hugs.

"You won't ban me from playing here if I'm not fucking amazing, right?"

"You'd have to be a dick to, like, everyone before we banned you," Miller says, "and even then."

Monty's quiet for a few moments longer, like he's trying to say something, but keeps stopping himself. "I just don't want to let Gina down," he says eventually. "She put a lot of work into this. I don't want to fuck it up."

"You're not going to fuck it up," Miller says, and Monty turns his head into Miller's neck and exhales.

By the time Miller makes it back out, Gina's up on stage, introducing the show. Miller gives Wells an apologetic grimace and gets back behind the counter. Octavia's pulled herself up onto it to sit, and Miller gives her a gentle shove to move her out of his way.

"Thanks for coming, everyone," Gina says. "For those of you who just happened to wander in at the right time, we've got all our regular performers in tonight to play a few songs for you. We haven't rehearsed this at all, so it might be a bit rough, but it shouldn't matter because they're all fucking amazing. Roma's at the back with some merch and CDs and stuff, and we're not charging an entry fee or anything but there's a collection box for the performers if you've got some spare change. Octavia's... somewhere, taking pictures and videos and stuff, but only of the music so you shouldn't end up on our Instagram unless you really want to. Have I forgotten anything?"

"No heckling or you're barred," Indra calls out, and Gina nods.

"Yeah, we don't really do that here, but this is entirely a labour of love, so we'll make an exception for hecklers," Gina says. "And on that cheery note, please welcome our first act-" She glances down at the sheet of paper she's holding and frowns. "Harpoe Is A Shitty Portmanteau? Is that seriously your name?"

Harper and Monroe join Gina on the stage, and Harper says, "We hadn't needed to have a proper name before, it was all we could do at short notice." Gina shakes her head, and Harper flashes a brilliant smile at the audience. "We're open to suggestions, though we've already vetoed Harpoe Is An Excellent Portmanteau And Octavia Blake Is A Goddamn Genius."

"They'll see the light," Octavia says, unruffled, and Miller shakes his head.

"This song is called Firewhiskey," Monroe says, "and, yeah, it's about Harry Potter."

Gina, who'd been making her way off stage, leans back to the microphone to say, "Can I take back the no heckling rule?"

"Get off our stage, Muggle," Harper says cheerfully.

They do a couple more songs after that, and they're good, really good; Miller always likes seeing them play. After them is Charlotte, a teenager who mostly does Saturday mornings when Miller's never working, but she's pretty good, too, and charms about half the audience by sheer baby face alone.

"Next up, we have-" Gina glances down at her sheet again. "Lincoln Woods, with our very own Octavia Blake providing important moral and percussive support."

Octavia shoves her phone at Miller and pushes herself down off the counter. "Take lots of pictures," she orders, then jumps up onto the stage next to Lincoln. She gets herself set up behind the drum kit, then counts Lincoln in. Miller knew she could play drums, took it up when she was a teenager to have an outlet for her rage over all the ways her and Bellamy's lives sucked, but he didn't know they'd practised together, played together. They're _good_ ; Lincoln doesn't need accompaniment, but it gives his songs body, gets people up and dancing. Miller takes lots of pictures.

They're too busy for Miller to pay much attention after that, so he nearly misses Gina saying, “Last and definitely not least, Monty Green, everyone!”

Miller's ringing up an order, but he looks up, anyway, watches Monty come on stage and wave at the audience. He's wearing glitter again, dark eyeliner all round his eyes, and Miller spends too long watching him play.

“This last song is dedicated to Nathan Miller,” Monty says, "thanks for bringing me coffee that one time."

Miller laughs, expecting some kind of coffee-related song, but Monty's face is serious, studiously looking anywhere but at Miller, and after a few bars, it becomes clear what Monty's actually playing. It's the song from Fox's party, the one they worked on together. With the lyrics, it's obvious; it's a love song. It could be about anyone, the dedication doesn't mean shit, but Miller thinks, _maybe_ , and, a heartbeat later, Miller thinks, _yeah, okay_.

He says, “Hey O,” but before he can figure out how to put his intention into words, she grins at him, twists around to slide down off the counter on his side of it.

“I told you,” she says, but she also takes his apron from him and swiftly takes over at the till.

Miller steps out into the crowd, but it's too thick for him to get much further than a few rows in. It's a slow, downbeat song, threaded through with longing, and everyone's swaying into the rhythm. Miller watches the last minute of it surrounded by strangers, doubt starting to creep in, but then Monty's done, hurrying off stage, head ducked and expression shuttered. Miller sees him disappear into the back as Gina starts wrapping up the show and slowly makes his way around the edge of the crowd.

When he makes it to the back room, Monty's packing up his stuff, and he looks up when Miller pushes the door open.

“Oh,” Monty says. His voice betrays nothing. “Hey.”

“You were great,” Miller says, and then doesn't know what else to say.

Monty makes a face. “I wrote you a song so we wouldn't have to actually talk about this,” he says, and Miller has to laugh, soft.

“So it was about me.”

“Of fucking course it was about you,” Monty says. “The cliché wouldn't be complete if it wasn't, right? I even asked Gina if I could go last, just so it'd be less obvious when I ran away after you rejected me, so, you know, make it quick? I still have time to slip away before anyone notices.”

Miller thinks, _be brave_ , holds it in his head and his heart for just a second, and then he says, “I'm not going to reject you.”

“Oh,” Monty says, and kisses him. He just sort of lurches forward into it, like he didn't quite mean to do it, and Miller grips him around the waist to hold him up. Monty pulls back and laughs, sheepish, eyes so bright, and Miller smiles back at him, leans back in.

*

>   
>  ♥ 337 likes  
>  **indrascoffee** showcase pt. 12! a truly excellent song from @montygreenmusic, feat. @itsnateural's lovestruck face (permission to post was obtained) -O
> 
> View 86 comments  
>  **itsnateural** you're all gross and over invested but yeah, we're dating  
>  **montygreenmusic** I'm writing him an album and everything, it's going to be terrible.  
>  **itsnateural** and you're all buying it.  
>  **montygreenmusic** ♥


End file.
